Talk revolution to me, baby
by truethingsproved
Summary: Les Mis college AU. Cosette/everyone friendship. E/R. Enjolras/Eponine friendship. Fun shenanigans as my response to the soul-crushing talent this fandom has for writing sad things.
1. Chapter 1

They're at a Women's Union meeting when Eponine mentions it.

"It's the campus' Amnesty International student organization," she explains in a low voice while someone starts talking about why Bella Swan isn't the Antichrist and how people need to start being more forgiving with her character. "Enjolras needs more people and they're really good but I'm the only girl and I want to punch myself in the face sometimes."

Cosette nods before leaning over to cut off someone accusing Bella of being 'too romantic' with a loud and sharp reminder that there's no _wrong_ way to be a woman before sitting back and looking at Eponine. "Yeah. Sounds fun. Enjolras is the hot blond, right?"

"Mhm." Eponine pauses, as if she's not sure if she wants to share this, before adding, "Marius is the club's treasurer."

_Marius_. Marius Pontmercy. He's adorable, really—well, no, he's not just adorable, he's gorgeous and he's sweet and he's got kind eyes and Cosette is pretty smitten with him. "I'm definitely in," she answers immediately, missing the fall in Eponine's expression when she leans forward to explain to the same girl as before that _her favorites could never._

* * *

It's borderline embarrassing how much time Cosette spends perfecting her appearance. It's not so much that she wants to look good for Marius (though that's an added bonus) but that she'd generally like to make a good first impression. Besides that, she _likes_ looking good, and that's reason enough for her.

She pulls on a pair of light blue skinny jeans that are torn a bit on one knee and a grey tank top, shrugging on an old plaid button-up she'd borrowed from her father and simply never returned. Once she's grabbed her bag and fixed her mascara she heads out, locking the dorm behind her and slinging her arm familiarly around Eponine's waist. When they get to the café off-campus where they hold their weekly meetings, there are about six boys there, most of whom Cosette doesn't know.

"That's Grantaire," Eponine says, pointing at a boy with a mop of dark curls under a red beanie. He half-waves vaguely before looking up and realizing who's talking.

"Ponine!" he calls out jovially, standing and moving to hug her. He's a little gruff and he smells vaguely of tobacco, beer, and sweat; he's tall, and lean, and built with a certain catlike grace which he seems to have misplaced and which Cosette credits to the alcohol. He turns to Cosette and beams. "And this is Cosette? We've heard so much about you."

"_Cosette, I love you_," a skinny boy with long hair pulled back in a ribbon calls out, and another boy, this one with dark curls almost as impressive as Grantaire's, picks it up with "_Cosette, I do!_" Grantaire and Eponine join in, grinning mischievously, "_When we're apart my heart beats only for you!_"

Marius, sitting on one of the armchairs, covers his face with his too-long sleeves, but even Cosette can see that he's blushing. Grantaire slings his arm around her shoulders, drawing her away from Eponine and making introductions. He does Marius first, even though she and Marius know each other, before pointing to the long-haired boy. "Jean Prouvaire. Once he starts kissing you and writing you poems, you can call him Jehan." Jean is wearing purple jeans and a tee shirt with a piece of burned toast frowning as a toaster crows _You got burned!_ "That's Courfeyrac." The boy with the impressive hair waves cheerfully. "Combeferre. Jolllly. Or just Joly. But Jolllly, and his boyfriend, Bossuet. Musichetta is coming later—she's their girlfriend."

"Oh, I know Musichetta," Cosette says with a small smile before biting her lip and flashing Joly and Bossuet a thumbs up. "She's a babe. Nice."

They all look at her with something akin to affection and Grantaire takes his seat on the sofa again, patting the empty cushion next to it as Eponine takes her usual seat in the armchair next to Marius. Marius stares after her a bit longingly.

"What's all this?" Cosette asks, sitting between Courfeyrac and Grantaire, both of whom immediately perk up at another pretty girl, and Grantaire presents her with the laptop he'd been typing on with a flourish.

"This," he declares dramatically, "is our pride and joy." "The one thing that matters most to this group," Courfeyrac cuts in. "Forget history and revolution," Eponine adds. "This is what we're really here for."

Cosette just leans forward, frowning, sure that she's reading it wrong."It's titled 'Enjolr-ass: Fuckless Leader'."

Grantaire practically beams.

"See, it's not that Enjolras can't get laid. Or even that he doesn't want to. It's that he's so damn busy that he never bothers to, and he desperately needs it."

"You're just saying that because you want to shirtless hug him," Courfeyrac interjects, and Grantaire shrugs but doesn't deny it.

After a moment's consideration and study of the spreadsheet (most people have bet on Grantaire, and a handful have bet on Eponine; Courfeyrac stubbornly bet on himself), Cosette reaches into her bag to withdraw her wallet. "It's fifty each, right?" Grantaire nods, and she pulls two twenties and a ten out before dropping her wallet back in her bag. "Here. I'm in."

Grantaire's smile just grows at this and he seems inordinately fond of her already. "Alright," he says, taking the money and sliding it into his pocket. "Who for?"

"Me," she says, trying not to grin at Marius' clear horror. "Give me until Tuesday."

"He's got an international phone conference with someone from AI's London office this weekend," Grantaire objects reasonably, as if he wants to give her a chance to actually try to win. "You'll never catch him."

"I'm not above wrapping myself in nothing but the French flag and doing a striptease," she responds serenely, and Marius falls off his chair.

They're all in love with her at that point, and Courfeyrac leans over to lay his head in her lap and Grantaire wraps his arm around her shoulders while Jean leans over to press a sweet and gentle kiss to her mouth before inviting her to marry him. No one but Eponine moves to help Marius.

* * *

When Enjolras finally does arrive it's to a loud cheer. He looks vaguely irritated at the shouts of "Our fearless leader has arrived!" and Grantaire's mocking greeting of, "Apollo," though when he passes Cosette the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile.

"Eponine or Marius?" he asks, and when she answers the former, he just grins wider. "Enjolras. Good to meet you, finally."

She shakes his hand and smiles in return, and Marius looks after them, entirely horrified.

The meeting lasts about an hour and a half. With another president it would probably get really boring really quickly, but there's something about Enjolras that makes everyone around them, even complete strangers in the café, literally stop and stare at him. He's practically glowing—he's entirely in his element, gesturing wildly and handing out pamphlets and press releases and he even has a folder with the Amnesty International logo on it that he gives to Cosette to start holding everything.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac are the most devoted to what he's saying, with Eponine and Cosette close after them, but Grantaire spends the entire time on a blogging site, occasionally interrupting with a well-placed sarcastic comment or question that gives Enjolras pause. While Enjolras speaks, he is in his glory, his unruly blond curls framing his face and occasionally falling over his eyes and his jaw set and his smile small but glorious and righteous and passionate. He's got the kind of fire that you don't think actually exists in people until you meet one of them—and Grantaire simply levels him down to nothing, knocks him down from Apollo to college student in seconds, and perhaps the others just aren't as shocked by it or maybe they don't even notice it, but there are few things more disconcerting than seeing Enjolras floundering, even if only for a moment. He always carries on like nothing's happened, though, and so Cosette just watches curiously, making note of how everyone behaves.

Marius is fascinated but almost more idealistic than Enjolras—whereas Enjolras wants to focus on the biggest issues, Marius wants to focus on _everything_ and ends up going off on an entirely unrelated tangent somehow. Jehan scribbles away in his notebook, taking notes on whatever's going on and sketching along the margins. Joly and Bossuet share an armchair, listening with vaguely interested looks and going through about four coffee drinks each, and Eponine listens in absolute silence, her eyes following Enjolras carefully as if she doesn't want to miss a thing—no matter how intent Combeferre and Courfeyrac are, she doubts they're as dedicated as Eponine seems to be.

Cosette approaches Enjolras after the meeting and between her foot-long eyelashes and her sweet smile he would probably give her a couple limbs if she asked. Instead, she invites him to go for a walk with her—there are a few things he'd mentioned in the meeting today that she wants to discuss further—and he agrees, offering his arm like a proper gentleman type and grinning when she takes it. They start out talking about the issues at hand and end up talking about themselves. They share favorite bands and they share favorite books. And he's plenty cute, so this really should be no problem.

"Listen," she says when he walks her back to campus and to her building. "I need a favor."

"Go ahead," he says, and she grins.

"I need you to help me win a bet."

* * *

It's all very odd, to be quite honest. Cosette mentions casually that she's going out as she puts on her eyeliner Saturday morning, her Amnesty International folder in her bag and her lipgloss in her coat pocket, and Eponine perks up, suddenly wary. "Where are you going?" she asks, trying to feign nonchalance.

Cosette shrugs. "Enjolras' apartment. He's got some books for me."

"Oh." Eponine tries to smile without looking panicked. "Have fun." The minute the door is closed behind her, Eponine's phone is out, and she's sending frantic texts.

* * *

"Hey." Enjolras pokes his head out of his bedroom, gesturing to Jehan. "Listen. Cosette's dropping by to pick up some CDs."

Jehan looks up from his phone with an expression of pure horror. "CDs?" he squeaks, and Enjolras nods before enunciating slowly, his hands held up, palms facing out, as if trying not to startle the little poet.

"Anyway, can you get the door? I'm going to jump in the shower before she gets here and just in case I'm not out before then…" Enjolras trails off, and Jehan nods, looking strangely akin to a deer caught in the headlights, and with another frown at the poet Enjolras heads towards the bathroom.

* * *

Cosette knocks four times and rocks back on her heels as she waits for someone to open the door. It's Jehan, whose eyes widen when he sees Cosette. "Lovely to have you," he gasps, and Cosette presses a finger to her lips as if to shush him before whispering, "Where's Enjolras?"

"Taking a shower," he responds, and Cosette grins before pulling something out of her bag and unfolding it to show him.

It's a French flag.

She floats past Jehan. "I'll just wait for Enjolras in his room," she purrs, leaving her coat on the couch and closing his door behind her.

* * *

**Jehan**: I'M REALLY CONCERNED

**Jehan**: SHE BROUGHT A FRENCH FLAG

**Jehan**: I THINK SHE'S NAKED UNDER THOSE CLOTHES

**Jehan**: I AM NOT PREPARED TO LOSE FIFTY BUCKS GET OVER HERE AND HELP ME FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO

* * *

When Enjolras gets out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, all of Les Amis, the affectionate name for the AI student group, are sitting in his living room, staring at him awkwardly. All except Grantaire and Marius; the former is drinking a wine cooler he swiped from the refrigerator (one of Jehan's—Enjolras mostly lives on coffee and breakfast food), while the latter is staring resolutely out the window. "Nice to see everyone…?" Enjolras says, furrowing his brow, and Jehan nods, his face too pale.

"Hey," Courf says, standing and walking to Enjolras. "God, you're looking fine tonight," he murmurs, and Enjolras just watches him with a raised eyebrow as he comes closer. "How about we blow this joint?"

"No," Enjolras responds, walking toward his room.

Courfeyrac stares after him, about to shout something about how Enjolras' butt isn't that cute anyway, but Enjolras stops dead when he opens the door to his bedroom. Courfeyrac gets the briefest glimpse of Cosette lounging across his bed like something right out of Playboy, completely naked except for a strategically placed French flag, before Enjolras mutters "dear god" and slams the door shut behind him.

Eponine and Jehan practically knock the couch over rushing to crowd around the door and listen, and Courf listens at the crack between the door and the floor. It's silent for a few minutes, save the occasional low giggle, before suddenly—

"_OH MY GOD!_"

They all freeze.

Even Grantaire seems shocked out of his careful attention to the wine cooler and he stares at the door with a mixture of amusement and outright horror, and out of nowhere, they hear a tremendous crash, the sound two people might make when falling out of a bed, then—

"_YES, OH, YES, RIGHT THERE_."

Marius looks like he's about to cry and Courf suddenly draws back from the door and makes the sign of the cross, at first infuriated that it's not him winning the bet, before suddenly letting out a quiet "Go, Cosette!" that everyone else shushes.

* * *

Cosette falls over while pulling her jeans back on, taking advantage of the sound to let out a breathy moan, while Enjolras growls low in his throat, glancing at the door in amusement while he brushes his hair. They've been at this for the past sixteen minutes, making as much noise as they possibly can, and Cosette's just ordered a pizza online which should be arriving at her dorm's building when she gets back.

At the twenty-one minute mark they decide that they've had their fun and Cosette lets out a blood-curdling scream; a few seconds later Enjolras' grunts as he pulls his shoe on give way to something between a moan and a shout. They fall silent.

"We win," Cosette mouths silently, and Enjolras flashes her a thumbs up and a grin.

* * *

She opens the door, only for Eponine and Jehan to fall into Enjolras' room, and she smiles at them cheerfully. "I didn't expect to see you all here," she calls, looking delighted; as she walks by, Grantaire snickers and reaches into his pocket to pull out a small wad of bills, holding them behind his back; she takes them as subtly as she can, stealing his wine cooler. "Told you," she mutters, and Grantaire can't help but laugh as he takes the wine cooler back.

"I'll walk you out," Enjolras calls, stepping over Jehan and Eponine and holding a DVD in his hand, which he gives to Cosette along with her coat.

"Thanks," she says, dropping it, along with a folded flag, into her bag.

"I thought you were borrowing a book," Eponine says slowly, standing and dusting herself off.

Cosette flushes prettily and shrugs. "I changed my mind," she says by way of explanation, waving over her shoulder, and Enjolras rests a hand on the small of her back, leading her out the door.

Once they've closed the door to the apartment she pulls the wad of bulls out, counting them before handing half to Enjolras. "Two hundred, as promised. Gavroche and Bahorel were in on it too."

"Those bastards," Enjolras says without any real venom. He tips an imaginary hat to her. "Good luck dealing with Marius."

_Good luck dealing with Grantaire_, she wants to shoot back, but instead she just leaves, laughing under her breath.

The pizza delivery guy gets a fantastic tip.


	2. Chapter 2

-I'm really sorry! I wanted to do something else that was funny but then E/R and apparently they can't ever be happy anywhere.

-that hug was one hundred percent borrowed from this cast watch?v=sJmp5yjZHtY

-Warning for mentions of abuse and alcoholism

-I'll be amusing next time. I'M SORRY.

* * *

When they were still in high school, Eponine used to sneak out of the house and walk down the four streets until she found Enjolras' house. From there, she'd climb the tree near his bedroom window, and once she got to the top, she'd throw acorns at his window until he woke up, opened it, and helped her inside. Without a word, he'd close the window behind her and crawl back into bed, making room for Eponine, and they lost count of the number of times his mother came in to make sure he was awake to find the two of them curled up together.

The first time it happened, she sat them down and gave them a safe sex talk. When it happened another few times, she just made Eponine a key.

They'd planned on living together when they got to college, but it turned out that it would be less expensive to just live on campus, and so Eponine got a dorm and met Cosette, and Enjolras got a tiny apartment and had a second key made for Eponine, as always. When Jehan moved in their second year it was only after Enjolras ran the idea past her, and she was so attached to Cosette at this point that she wanted to keep living with her.

Eponine never has to use her key, though, because Enjolras never locks his door. Since getting that apartment, he hasn't. He carries his laptop with him everywhere and the most valuable thing in that apartment is his CD collection of great French operas, but besides that, the apartment is never empty.

Marius stops by to do his homework between classes, because Enjolras' textbook collection has everything he'd ever dream of needing. Courfeyrac and Combeferre come by to talk about Les Amis and to flirt with Jehan until he goes as red as his hair ribbons. After the bet, Cosette comes by simply to sit on Enjolras' bed and paint her toenails while regaling him with stories of what she's learning in her gender studies classes and what's Enjolras' opinion on this or that discussion that was had. Every Sunday, Bahorel shows up around eight in the morning with four bags of groceries and makes a big enough breakfast to feed everyone at the college; Les Amis always come by for Sunday breakfast, talking and laughing and generally making too much noise while Enjolras, still in yesterday's tee shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants, drinks coffee and sits on the counter and watches them with an expression somewhere between exasperation and genuine affection. It's one of the only times that they see Enjolras totally relaxed. He will work through sleep, he will work through class, he will dedicate his entire life to his cause, but for those couple of hours on Sunday mornings he belongs to his friends.

It's Grantaire who spends the most time in Enjolras' and Jehan's apartment, though. Eponine's lost count of the number of times she came over in the morning to find Grantaire asleep on the couch, probably trying to sleep his way through a hangover, with a small stack of clean clothes next to him and a blanket tucked around him. The first time this happened she'd tried to ask Enjolras what happened but he'd shushed her for being too loud.

It is distressingly easy for Les Amis to joke that their fearless leader is soulless and only cares about his social revolutions (and his increasing celebrity crush on the entirety of Anonymous) but a few of them are one hundred percent aware that Enjolras loves them, the little shits. Eponine asked Jehan once what it was like living with Enjolras, and Jehan just replied that it felt like he'd moved in with all of his friends, not just one.

* * *

One of Enjolras' many qualities, though, is the ease with which he is cruel. Maybe it's because they all joke that he hasn't got a soul, but when pushed too far he snaps back as viciously as any of them could imagine. The part about it that hurts the most is that he never seems to enjoy his cruelty, or even to spit it out in a passionate rage. Everything he says when he gets like this is calm and cold and completely calculated to make the listener bleed.

Grantaire tends to be on the receiving end of this cruelty more than any of the rest of them combined. It's usually a reaction, a response to one of Grantaire's endless jabs, but they rarely, if ever, match up to Enjolras' response.

They're discussing Gavroche's involvement in the group. By all logic he shouldn't be involved at all—he's a freshman in high school, but he's Eponine's little brother, and he has a tendency to tag along to meetings. Enjolras has known him, quite literally, since he was born—and he's a tiny blond revolutionary in his own right. So if the kid insists on coming, and he's really so dedicated to the group, Enjolras sees no reason to bar him from coming to meetings. It's not like he could stop him, anyway.

That's the thing: they can't stop Gavroche. He's old enough to find some way to do what he wants whether or not they want him to, and if there's a fourteen-year-old running around doing activist work, it seems like it would be a better idea to simply let him tag along, however reluctantly. At least this way, they can keep an eye on him.

Grantaire is not paternal. The closest he comes to being paternal is the relationship he has with his cat, a violent, mangy looking thing he simply calls 'cat'. Cat started out a really attractive kitten but once left in Grantaire's care realized that his goal in life was to be a dog, and took to rolling around in mud whenever possible, getting into endless fights, and viciously attacking Enjolras at nearly every opportunity. Either way, the list of adjectives one could use to describe Grantaire is one lacking the word 'paternal'.

He's got a soft spot for Gavroche, though, and it's one none of them expected. Gavroche's first cell phone is a gift from Grantaire, when Grantaire figures out what the Thenardiers are like. Gavroche spends hours talking to Grantaire, who stops whatever he's doing to talk to him, and on more than one occasion Grantaire has kicked everyone out of his apartment so he could go pick Gavroche up from whatever seedy goings-on the teenager's gotten into this week.

So when Gavroche announces that he wants to tag along to a demonstration in the city, Enjolras hesitates, Eponine opens her mouth to refuse, and Grantaire replies, "Absolutely not, kid."

Had anyone else said that Gavroche would have pushed, but it's _Grantaire_, and Gavroche doesn't argue with Grantaire, so he accepts it with a scowl, but at least he accepts it. Enjolras is watching Gavroche with a curious expression, and before he can say a word, Grantaire just shakes his head, his glare deadly.

After a while, Gavroche heads home, and the second he's out of the café Grantaire turns to Enjolras with eyes like fire.

"You're not letting him come to that demonstration."

Enjolras and Eponine share a look and Enjolras shakes his head. "He's old enough to decide what he wants," he insists. "He'll do it anyway."

"People get _arrested _at those," Grantaire snaps, closing his laptop and setting it down on the table in front of him. "The cops will not hesitate to beat the shit out of a kid if he's there. So unless you're getting him a fucking helmet and one of those wrist leash things so that he can't run off and land on some asshole's wrong side, he's not coming."

Eponine opens her mouth to argue, but Enjolras holds a hand out to stop her. "You could always come and keep an eye out for him."

"I'm the least responsible person in this room and you want me keeping an eye on him?" Grantaire practically spits this, his voice venomous. "You don't even trust me with fucking pamphlets and you'll trust me with a human being."

Enjolras makes a point of considering this and deciding it's a bad idea. He doesn't stop and notice the color rising to Grantaire's cheeks, nor does he realize that Cosette is pressing her hand against Grantaire's to try and get him to stop, or that Jehan is hiding his face in Courfeyrac's shoulder. This is promising to be one of their grander arguments, and someone's going to get hurt. As per usual.

"Shouldn't we let him make his own decisions?"

"He's _fourteen _and he thinks himself invincible. What do you think he'd do if he saw a cop going after his sister?" _He's an abused kid and we're not putting him in a situation to get hurt more,_ he seems to be saying silently, but he won't say it out loud, out of respect for Eponine or Gavroche or both.

"He's got to learn what this is like sooner or later," Enjolras protests, and Gavroche scoffs.

"Fine, great, we can just throw him at a fucking response team or something and see how he handles it," he retorts, his words dripping with sarcasm, and Enjolras presses his lips together and regards Grantaire coldly.

"We could always get him drunk first." His tone is dry, and he raises his eyebrows. "Maybe then he'd be more useful."

Their end of the café is painfully silent. Marius halts his nervous conversation about bake sales with Bahorel, and Cosette looks at Enjolras as if he's just slapped Grantaire. A large portion of Enjolras immediately regrets the words—there are some things that are off limits. Grantaire's alcohol problem is one of them. If they talk to Grantaire about his addiction (and it is, one hundred percent, an addiction) they do not do so accusingly.

Grantaire's face goes pale, paler than Enjolras has ever seen it, but he stands. The hurt is evident in his face and for a moment Enjolras wonders if Grantaire will hit him. Almost without realizing it he turns his head slightly, as if to offer a target, but instead Grantaire clasps his hands over where a romantic might draw a heart and bows low.

"My sincerest apologies, Apollo," he responds, his tone curt, and he turns and gathers his bag and leaves the café.

They watch in stunned silence as Cosette scrambles off the sofa to follow him, and watch through the front windows as she grabs his arm and pleads with him. He takes her face in both hands and kisses her forehead before flicking her nose with a bitter smile, and walks away.

Everyone gets up to leave after that, and it's only when everyone else is gone that Enjolras realizes that Grantaire left his laptop.

* * *

**Enjolras:** R, you left your laptop at Musain.

**Enjolras:** It's at my place.

* * *

Their meeting is on a Thursday. Enjolras can't sleep and after his initial texts to Grantaire go unanswered, he simply assumes that Grantaire needs a bit of time and some space away from them. Enjolras can't blame him. He's reeling; the guilt for what he said is eating away at him from the inside out.

At four AM on Friday morning, Enjolras logs into Facebook—which he uses primarily to share news links—and spends the next six minutes staring at Grantaire's profile. No updates since before the meeting. Same with Grantaire's blog. He picks up his phone to try calling Grantaire before remembering what time it is and setting his phone down; he's too exhausted for any of this. For all of this.

He spends the night staring at his ceiling and finally falls asleep around six, able to catch a couple hours before class. Class is spent with him checking his phone almost obsessively.

Still no response.

* * *

**Enjolras:** Hey. Still have your laptop. Do you want me to drop it off at your place?

* * *

Friday passes with no response. Bordering on desperate, he calls Grantaire twice, once from his phone and once from Jehan's; both go straight to voicemail. He calls Eponine and Cosette picks up; before he can try and say anything Cosette is practically screaming at him.

"_I cannot believe you! How could you ever say that to him! You're supposed to be his friend!_"

He wants to snap back but this really is his fault, and so he just sits there and listens as Cosette rails against him.

"_And you are; I mean, it's obvious, you love all of us but you have a soft spot for him and don't you dare try to deny it._" Here she uses Enjolras' full name, middle name included, and Enjolras is honestly impressed at her dedication. Even Eponine doesn't know his middle name. "_And then you throw that in his face. How dare you? Have you even apologized yet?_"

"He's not answering my calls," Enjolras sighs, and he sounds as exhausted as he feels. "That's why I'm calling. Have you talked to him since yesterday?"

"_No_," Cosette answers, and she sounds worried.

"Right, sorry. Thank you." He hangs up before Cosette can say anything else.

* * *

**Enjolras:** I shouldn't have said what I said. I didn't mean it.

**Enjolras:** I shouldn't have said it even if I meant it. That was horrible of me.

**Enjolras: **I fucked up.

* * *

Dr. Lamarque stops by the apartment Saturday afternoon to bring Enjolras the small stack of books he keeps promising to loan him and forgetting to bring in. Lamarque is old, older than Dr. Valjean (Cosette's father, and head of the history department), but when you get him started on a topic about which he's passionate he seems barely older than Enjolras himself with the fire in his eyes. They get along beautifully.

The only thing is that Dr. Lamarque's never come by Enjolras' apartment before.

He doesn't know the rule about always keeping the door unlocked.

He probably doesn't even realize he's locking it before he leaves and closes the door behind him.

* * *

**Enjolras:** R, if you won't talk to me, can you at least just let someone know that you're alright?

* * *

After some borderline frantic texting that Enjolras somehow manages to make seem nonchalant (ish), and determining that Grantaire has been in contact with Courfeyrac and Gavroche, at least, he curls up in bed to try and make up for lost sleep.

Something wakes him up a little past three that morning, though—something that sounds like the insistent turning of a locked door. Which is ridiculous, because Enjolras doesn't lock his door. Ever.

Still, the sound continues, until finally there's a dramatic sort of thump, and Enjolras finally gets out of bed to go let whoever it is in. (It feels vaguely like something's dropped into the pit of his stomach at the thought that maybe the mystery midnight visitor could be Grantaire.) When he gets to the door, though, it won't open.

This is getting ridiculous and Enjolras is really way too tired for any of this bullshit. He tries again. Locked.

Which is impossible, because Enjolras doesn't lock the door. Ever. And neither does Jehan.

Enjolras is suddenly very awake with the memory of Dr. Lamarque's visit and suddenly he's scrambling to unlock the door and it's so loud that he's sure he's going to wake Jehan (which he doesn't have to worry about, honestly. He once stood outside Jehan's room and sang all of Joanna's parts from Sweeney Todd and didn't wake him). He throws the door open and steps out, only to see a vaguely familiar shape with hunched shoulders and inky curls vanishing through the door to the stairs.

"Grantaire!" he hisses, but the sound doesn't carry fast enough to catch him before the door closes and the familiar shape is gone.

* * *

**Enjolras:** I don't know why the door was locked. That was you, wasn't it?

* * *

Considering the hour, Enjolras should probably be a little quieter, what with all the doors he's opening and slamming shut and the fact that he's kind of _pounding_ down the stairs, but he really couldn't care less. He's wearing Jehan's shoes because they were the nearest to the door and he's got a random flannel shirt that he's pretty sure used to be Bahorel's pulled on over his tee shirt and between the floral of Jehan's shoes, the plaid of his pants, and the plaid of the shirt, if anyone were to see him right now they'd probably never take him seriously again.

Cosette was right. Enjolras loves his friends. Enjolras loves his friends with a fervor that's honestly almost embarrassing. He's not sure he's capable of loving them with anything less than that fervor. He is devoted to his cause, and he constantly defers to the 'bigger picture', but if it came down to it he'd throw his life down for a friend in a heartbeat. But Grantaire… Enjolras' feelings regarding Grantaire have honestly always made him almost uncomfortable. They're fierce, protective, and downright overwhelming. If he was one for overly romantic metaphors, he'd call Grantaire clean air in a city filled with smoke. But he's not one for overly romantic metaphors.

There's no describing Grantaire sometimes. Grantaire simply is, and Enjolras gravitates toward him, no matter how infuriating he can be, no matter how far he pushes Enjolras. Enjolras is dangerously close to orbiting around him entirely and he's not sure if it's something he wants to halt. The thought of Grantaire walking away makes him feel like he's missing his ribcage, and so honestly, Enjolras doesn't much care if he wakes the entire fucking city getting him to turn around.

Grantaire's not in the 'lobby'—which is in reality just a glorified hallway—nor is he outside the apartment building, and Enjolras spares half a second's thought to 'do I really want to venture into the public looking like I just jumped four different hipsters?' but he goes out and sees the same shadow as before just about to turn a corner. He stops, takes in a breath, and shouts, "_Grantaire!"_

The inky-haired shadow stops almost nervously, and Enjolras jogs over to where he's standing. It's starting to get a bit cold, what with it being winter and all and his flannel not being as warm as he'd like, but he has more important things to think about right now.

It's definitely Grantaire, at least, and he's drunk, but it's not as bad as it normally is. Enjolras reaches out almost tentatively to rest his hand on his arm, frowning. "I don't know why the door was locked," he says after a moment's pause, during which Grantaire just looks down at the hand on his arm.

"Clearly, someone locked it," Grantaire answers, and he's not slurring quite as much as Enjolras might have expected, and there's almost an amused glint in his eyes.

Enjolras concedes that with a nervous grin, and he chews the inside of his cheek before speaking again. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Forget it, Apollo. It's over and done with."

"No, it's not," Enjolras insists, and Grantaire looks surprised. Enjolras takes advantage of this opportunity and just keeps talking, and he's not sure if everything he's saying makes sense but he just keeps going.

As long as he talks, Grantaire won't leave, and the longer Grantaire stays there, shivering on the sidewalk next to him, the better the chances of Enjolras making him believe that he really, truly is sorry.

"What I said, I—I said it to hurt, and I didn't think that it actually would. I didn't mean it. I _don't_ mean it. And I understand you not talking to me after that, and I don't blame you for being hurt. I never should have said that, anything like it."

"Apollo, seriously," Grantaire cuts in, frowning more and more. "It's fine."

"It's not even a little bit fine, R."

"I can't be trusted with pamphlets; I shouldn't be trusted with a kid. I'm more dead weight than anything to the group and you really don't need me there." Enjolras opens his mouth to argue and Grantaire shakes his head. "Don't deny it. It's true, we both know it."

"You're right," Enjolras says, surprising Grantaire further. "We don't need you there. I _want_ you there."

Grantaire doesn't have a response for that and instead just raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes in surprise.

"Come on. It's cold. Come inside, _please_."

Of all the things for Grantaire to do Enjolras is not expecting anything kind. He almost wants Grantaire to hit him. Instead, Grantaire looks back at the hand on his arm before suddenly surging forward, and before Enjolras really knows what's happening there's a pair of shaky arms around him and Grantaire's practically hiding his face in Enjolras' shoulder.

It takes a moment but Enjolras returns the embrace. They stand like this for a moment more before Grantaire seems to realize what he's doing and starts to pull back, but Enjolras tightens his grip on his friend almost desperately, one hand on the back of his head and his fingers curling almost unconsciously into his hair, and Grantaire freezes.

After a minute more Enjolras releases him. "Do me a favor?" he asks quietly, and Grantaire nods.

"Anything," he answers, before one corner of his mouth quirks up in a sarcastic smile. "Polish your boots."

Enjolras doesn't respond to the jab, just chews the inside of his cheek again. "Come back inside. It's fucking cold and you're gonna need your laptop eventually."

"One condition," Grantaire says seriously, and Enjolras nods. "Gav's not coming to that fucking demonstration."

* * *

When Bahorel comes in to make breakfast Grantaire is asleep on the couch and Enjolras is sitting on the counter, his legs tucked under him and a cup of coffee next to him, with a massive book in his lap. "Try not to wake him," he mutters to Bahorel, who just nods, looking relieved that they've worked everything out.

Grantaire is awake by the time the others start arriving, and seems admirably adjusted considering the pounding headache he has—Enjolras just wordlessly holds his cup of coffee out for Grantaire before sliding off the counter to pour himself more. The rest of Les Amis pour in, as they do every Sunday morning, and they all seem as relieved as Bahorel to see Grantaire there, laughing and helping cook and stealing Enjolras' second cup of coffee when his runs out.

Eponine thinks that maybe Enjolras isn't paying very much attention to his book—he hasn't turned a page in almost ten minutes now, let alone torn his eyes away from Grantaire sitting there in one of Enjolras' shirts—but she doesn't say a word.


	3. Chapter 3

There are a lot of reasons to like Marius Pontmercy.

He's cute, for starters, with freckles everywhere and hair that's perpetually messy and big, bright eyes. He's also really smart—god knows Dr. Valjean talks about it enough. "You should date that Marius boy. He scored a ninety-eight on my exam. He wrote me a fantastic final paper. He actually does his homework."

(On more than one occasion Cosette has suggested that her father just date him himself, and after a moment's consideration Dr. Valjean replied that he didn't think he was Marius' type.)

Marius is cute and smart and he's got a huge heart and he's ridiculously kind. He and Eponine have been friends for ages—it's how Cosette met him in the first place, through Eponine—and if Eponine thinks someone's a good person, then they're definitely a good person. He's also fairly smitten with Cosette, which, she figures, is usually a good place to start when it comes to the foundations of a relationship.

The only thing is that this kid is absolutely terrible at talking to women.

* * *

"He keeps freaking out every time he talks to me."

"_It could be worse._" There's a small thump on the other line, and Grantaire's voice is suddenly far away as he says, "_Sorry, it's Cat, hang on._" Cosette hears movement, then a pitiful mewling sound, and Grantaire's voice is in her ear again. "_That thing is so fucking demanding, I swear. Anyway. At least he's not leading a shambling horde of the undead to feast on your flesh._"

Cosette pauses, considering this, before letting out a small hum of agreement. "Yeah. There's that."

"_What did he do now?_"

"Nothing! That's the thing." Cosette lets out a small groan of frustration. "He and Eponine went out and he picked Eponine up and he could barely say hi to me. He's always been kind of shy with me but it's just gotten worse since the bet."

"_I don't get how he actually thinks you and Enjolras fucked with all of us in the other room,_" Grantaire says, and Cosette can practically see the wry grin on his face. "_Though to be fair, I thought you'd screwed him, too, at first._"

"You were reasonable about it, though," she points out. "Speaking of, how are things with you guys, since he apologized?" There's silence on the other line that lasts so long Cosette checks to make sure that the call wasn't dropped. "R? Still there?"

He laughs quietly. "_Yeah_."

"Should we not talk about Enjolras?"

"_Probably not_."

"Are you sure?"

"_No._" Grantaire is laughing again, and there's another silence, though this one is much shorter. "_Speak of the devil. He's on the other line. Let me call you back?"_

"Yeah, of course. Tell him hey." She hangs up, then sets her phone down in her lap with a heavy sigh.

She wants Marius to talk to her. She wants Marius to stop acting like she's going to bite his head off or eat him alive or break him in half. (If he _wants_ her to break him in half, though, she sees no reason not to.) Most importantly, she _really_ wants Marius to kiss her.

Cosette looks at her phone for a moment more before sliding off her bed and picking the phone up. She dials Marius' number by memory as she makes her way to her mirror, reaching for her eyeliner.

He picks up after the first ring, though he hesitates before speaking. "_Hello?_"

"Marius! Hey, it's Cosette." The rest of her makeup will need some touching up, and she needs to do something about her hair, but if Marius isn't going to actually make a move she's taking matters into her own hands. "Listen, you free? I have the weirdest urge for a latte."

* * *

**Cosette:** i'm going out with marius. i think.

**Grantaire: **how do you think ur going out with marius?

**Grantaire: **i feel like that's one of those things you should know.

**Cosette:** i invited him out for coffee.

**Grantaire:** ur in the process of going somewhere, it's out, and marius is tagging along. ur going out with marius.

**Grantaire:** have fun, chicakdee. don't do anything i wouldn't do.

**Cosette: **that really doesn't limit me…

**Grantaire:** i know. ur so lucky you have me.

* * *

Musain is closed, and so they head to a Starbucks after swearing to never tell Enjolras under any circumstances. To be fair, the only other option is a Dunkin Donuts, and at least Starbucks is fair trade. Cosette curls up in one of the armchairs in the middle of the shop, waiting for Marius to join her, and when he does, she watches him over the rim of her cup.

She waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Finally she gets bored with blowing at the steam from her latte and sighs. "Is there a particular reason you act like I'm a hungry shark every time you're around me?" she asks, sounding wildly curious, and Marius flushes a really endearing shade of pink.

"Um."

"I mean, if I intimidate you, I get it." Cosette shrugs, taking a sip before wrinkling her nose at the cup. It's still way too hot to drink, but damn, she needs something between her and Marius and if scalding hot liquid is the only thing she's got, she's going to use it.

If it turns out he _is_ about to lead a horde of the shambling undead at her, at least she can use it as a weapon.

"I intimidate a lot of guys. I talk a lot and I talk loudly and I'm not afraid to call people out on being shits. It's funny; that's why I get along with your friends," she adds, with a small, fond snicker.

This makes Marius' flush deeper and he stares glumly into his coffee. "Yeah," he mutters. "They're pretty great."

Cosette's eyebrows shoot toward her hairline. "Why do you look like you're going to cry?"

"I do not!" he protests childishly. "So, are you and Enjolras a thing?" he asks, almost as if he's challenging her.

It's really kind of awful of her to do but she can't help it and she bursts out laughing, nearly spilling her latte. "God, no, are you kidding? We'd be the _worst_ couple. I'd forget to get toilet paper made from recycled materials once and he'd dump me."

"Cosette—"

"He'd start singing the French national anthem while we were in bed."

Marius' blush looks almost painful at this point, and he clears his throat.

"Besides, there would be nowhere to put my hairgel," she finishes reasonably, taking an almost dainty sip of her coffee.

Her phone vibrates and she fishes it out of her pocket, nearly snorting when she reads the text (it's from Jehan and reads "Grantaire told me that you and Marius were going out tonight. I'm writing you a poem. What rhymes with 'your freckly ass'?"). "Is that what you were worried about?" she asks, sliding her phone back into her pocket. "You thought I was with Enjolras?"

"Well, I mean, you slept with him," Marius points out, stammering a bit and trying to be reasonable, and Cosette snorts again.

"First of all, I didn't, and second of all, even if I did, that doesn't mean anything," she shoots back.

His eyes are huge and suddenly he seems shocked. "You lied to win the bet?"

"Damn straight I did. Enjolras and I split the winnings. Then I felt bad about it and bought you all pizza for, like, two months. I think he donated his." Cosette sighs and sets her coffee down on the table next to her before leaning forward.

Marius. He smells wonderful, and it feels a little creepy to admit but she really does love the way he smells. It's one of her favorite things about him. He smells how she imagine sunlight smells—warm, intoxicating, almost like honey. She's fantasized about doing a lot of things with him but one of her favorites is just burying her face in the curve of his neck and breathing, in and out and in and out, trying to inhale him.

She's close enough that she could count his eyelashes. They're long, beautiful, and the lighting is perfect, making them cast slight shadows on his cheekbones. It takes far more effort than she'd planned on having to exert to keep from tracing her fingertips lightly along the outline of his mouth.

"I want you to do me a favor," she says quietly, and Marius nods, totally helpless. Her hair falls over one shoulder and his fingers twitch as if he wants to comb them through it. Her phone vibrates again but she ignores it—Jehan can wax poetic about Marius' ass without her help. "I want you to be totally honest with me right now, okay?"

Marius looks a little terrified, but he nods, and she bites her lip before noticing the uncomfortable way he shifts in his chair.

"Are you attracted to me?"

The blush definitely looks painful now but Marius nods, his eyes floating almost without his realizing to rest on Cosette's lip, reddened by her bite.

"Do you want to start seeing me? Like, regularly?"

There's a pause, then, another nod, and Cosette's entire face lights up. Marius seems surprised at the severity of her response, but the corners of his mouth turn upwards as well, and she leans forward just a little bit more.

She wonders if he tastes like sunlight, too.

"So, you like me." She pushes her hand forward until it slides onto his leg, her fingers interlocking with his where they rest on his knee. "I like you. What do you want to do right now?" He hesitates, looking nervous, and she suggests, "Do you want to kiss me?"

"Yes, I do." God, his voice is almost indecent right now, low and a little husky, and she bites at her lip again to keep herself focused, because the last thing she needs right now is to lose her grasp on the situation.

This time she's the one pausing, and she says, very softly, "I want you to kiss me."

His grin is wide enough that she thinks that must hurt more than the blush.

"What's stopping you?" she asks him, moving closer, close enough that he barely has to move six inches until his mouth is on hers, and she's so sure he's going to do it when—

"I just have a hard time thinking of you with them," he murmurs, and he moves forward to kiss her but she draws back, withdrawing her hand as she does.

Her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline. "I'm sorry, _what?_"

"It's just…" Marius gestures vaguely, looking entirely lost and very much like he wishes he'd kissed Cosette instead of spoken. "I don't know. It's weird. I mean, it's…"

"Did you honestly think I've never been interested in someone or slept with someone before?" Cosette asks, sounding a little offended, and he's about to protest before stopping.

"I thought you said you and Enjolras didn't sleep together."

"We didn't," Cosette says. "You know how Jehan kisses everyone."

"Oh, my god," Marius mutters, and, bless him, he looks about to laugh. "You and Jehan?"

"He was quoting poetry at me!" Well, it had started as poetry, and then they'd been suddenly lacking clothing. "I'm a sucker for poetry. He was reciting 'She Walks In Beauty' and next thing I knew my—wait, why am I justifying this? I'm at liberty to sleep with whoever I want." It wasn't her fault that Jehan was also exceptionally skilled at cunnilingus.

"Yes, yes, you are, I'm just surprised, that's all. And irrationally jealous." Marius looks a little embarrassed to admit this. "But I mean, it was just Jehan, so—"

"No. Grantaire was there too." That had been one hell of a movie night. Marius pauses, gaping at her a bit, before letting out a very tiny "_oh_" and clearing his throat. "And what, even if it was just Jehan, does that make it more acceptable to you?"

This is wrong, all wrong. Cosette likes Marius. She really, really likes Marius. But if it turns out he's some asshole who judges people based on their sex lives, she's going to be so angry. And sad. Not that she'll admit that.

"Listen, I like you a lot, Marius."

Her phone vibrates again. Marius is watching her curiously, though, so she ignores it, and suddenly she surges forward.

He'd wanted to kiss her.

When Cosette's lips land on his it's with a familiarity and intimacy that you usually don't achieve until you've been with someone for a long time. Marius is surprised, to say the least, and sets his coffee down before reaching up to curl his fingers in her hair. Her eyes flutter closed, and she was right. He does taste like sunlight. After a minute she pulls back, picking up her latte and standing.

He stares after her, somehow even more surprised, and she spreads her arms at her sides. "Just get your shit together, Pontmercy," she practically growls before walking out of the Starbucks.

* * *

This is not Cosette Fauchelevant's best idea.

For starters, she and Marius drove to Starbucks together, so she can either leave him stranded (which is tempting but a bit crueler than she's prepared to be) or she can call a cab (which seems too much like something out of one of the countless terrible romantic comedies that Grantaire makes her watch with him). Going back into the coffee shop seems too much like admitting defeat.

Beyond that, it's snowing. Which, she supposes, she should have realized sooner, considering that it's January and they live in the Northeast and all, not to mention the fact that there is evidence literally falling from the sky, but it's been a long day and she's starting to wish she'd stayed at her dorm and watched Grey's Anatomy with Grantaire on the phone, like she tends to do.

She leans against the car, figuring that she might as well just wait for Marius to come out so that she can drive him home, but when he does the first thing he does is blurt out an apology.

Oh.

She hadn't expected this.

"You're right," he says, mumbling a bit, and Cosette shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts. "It's none of my business if you've hooked up with any of our friends. And it definitely doesn't change anything. Like, how I think of you or feel about you. It's just a surprise, you know? And it shouldn't be, because you're gorgeous and the guys aren't exactly unaware of that.

"But that's the thing, you know? You're gorgeous and Jehan's gorgeous—seriously. I'm waiting for someone to steal him away so he can start filming shampoo commercials—and Grantaire's apparently rugged and sexy or _whatever_ it is about him that makes everyone lose their shit. And they're interesting and you're interesting and I'm kind of boring and so I genuinely don't see any reason why you'd want me over them. But I am sorry. My own insecurity and complete lack of understanding of how to express them is no excuse to talk to you like that. Intentional or otherwise.

"Also, could you please answer your phone? It's really loud when it vibrates and it keeps startling me," he adds, looking a bit chagrined, when the phone vibrates again. She does, her hands clumsier than usual, only to burst out laughing and hold the phone out for Marius to take and examine.

**Jehan: **Grantaire told me that you and Marius were going out tonight. I'm writing you a poem. What rhymes with 'your freckly ass'?

**Jehan:** I'm calling it 'The Ballad of Marius' Bum.'

**Jehan:** Tell him that all the most beautiful constellations are feeble attempts on the universe's part to imitate his freckles.

**Jehan:** Tell him that he graces the sun with his pasty and freckly and ginger presence.

**Jehan:** Oh, goodness, what if his butt doesn't actually have freckles? It'll throw the whole poem off. Be a darling and ask him.

Marius' shoulders are shaking with laughter, and he's barely lowered the phone before Cosette is lacing her fingers into his again, smiling almost shyly.

"I don't want Jehan or Grantaire," she promises. "I don't care how 'interesting' they are. I want _you._"

He finishes typing his response to Jehan ("His backside is positively alabaster and carved from marble") and hands her the phone again. "I can work with that," he says quietly, looking immensely relieved and blushing again. She's coming closer to him again and he rests his hands on her hips just as she winds her arms around his neck.

"Good to know," she murmurs, and she's smiling against his lips.


	4. Chapter 4

-Warnings for alcoholism and R not taking good care of himself. :c

-WOW YOU ARE ALL SO NICE thank you for the beautiful comments and reviews and I swear I will answer them all.

-I'm also on AO3 and am working on posting some stuff on there that was on here, and posting some stuff on here that is on there, so check me out there I guess?

-you're all lovely. c:

* * *

Grantaire has a System for finals.

His System is a simple one. The first step involves grocery shopping with Courfeyrac, who has adopted the System, at least in part. Cheap vodka, instant mac 'n' cheese, and at least four pounds of ground coffee to go with the several bags of instant coffee. The ground coffee he will actually make. The instant coffee will be eaten with a spoon.

The second step involves putting on music.

The third step involves not sleeping until he passes out from exhaustion.

The fourth step involves waking up and repeating from step two.

* * *

There's only so much of the System that Courfeyrac can take, though, and he's hiding out in Enjolras' apartment to study, along with most of the rest of Les Amis, when Eponine gets there. They've taken up residence in the living room; Jehan is curled up on the coffee table, Joly and Combeferre are huddled in one corner of the sofa looking over their notes together, and Cosette and Marius are sharing an arm chair. Courfeyrac has taken the other, and he looks up at Eponine with an expression of utter despair.

"R?" she guesses, and Courfeyrac nods glumly, glancing back at his notes on Hegel.

"Did you know that he worships Lana Del Rey?"

From where he's standing in the kitchen Enjolras snorts loudly enough to make Jehan squeak and fall off the table in surprise. Bahorel is making everyone sandwiches while Enjolras and Musichetta work on preparing hot chocolate for everyone. "I'm not surprised," Chetta says, bumping her hip affectionately against Enjolras'. "She's sad and sings about drugs and unhealthy relationship dynamics. She was born for him."

"No. She was born to die. I know this because I heard that song twelve times this morning before coming over here." Courfeyrac looks pained when he admits this. "Do you know what else I know? I know that her man is a bad man but she can't deny the way he holds her hand. I got to fall asleep to that one last night. I'm never going back there."

Eponine finds this far more amusing than she should and makes a mental note to steal Courfeyrac's iPod and replace everything on it with Lana Del Rey before settling on the other end of the sofa. "Where's Bossuet?" she asks, tucking her legs under her, and Enjolras comes out to bring her a cup of hot chocolate first. He's sprinkled cinnamon in it, just like he has since high school, and he presses a quick kiss to the top of her head before setting the cup down in front of her.

"He and Feuilly are coming later. Feuilly's at work and Bossuet's on Grantaire-sitting duty."

The last time they'd left Grantaire alone during finals week he'd had to take two of his finals almost a month later because he'd ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning and severe malnutrition. Enjolras and Courfeyrac had both ended up half moved in to his hospital room, sleeping in the uncomfortable chairs provided for family, since Grantaire's family didn't even bother to call, let alone visit (except for his younger sister, who, at sixteen, couldn't exactly up and leave with no warning to drive across the country, but ended up on the phone with them for at least twenty minutes per day, demanding regular updates).

It isn't a mistake any of them are willing to make again. So one of them is always there, checking in every few hours to sneak Grantaire some food and replace some of his coffee with decaf.

"I hope he likes Lana Del Rey," Courfeyrac whines softly.

Chetta and Enjolras finish bringing out the hot chocolates just as Eponine gets settled into the sofa, and Enjolras squeezes in next to her. They maneuver around quietly for a moment until somehow their legs are tangled together and she's got one hand in his hair and he's drinking her hot chocolate. They've been best friends as long as they can remember and Enjolras has been physical in his affection practically since infancy. He's big on casual touches but he goes all out with Eponine, who usually just pets his hair to keep him from fidgeting.

Bahorel finishes the sandwiches and brings out a huge platter, which he rests precariously on Jehan's back, as the poet has decided to sprawl out on his stomach and take up the entire coffee table. Musichetta's about four years older than all of them, and graduated a couple years ago, but she stays to look after them; her family lives in Malaysia, for the most part. She'd met Joly while traveling one summer, and upon meeting Bossuet the three had simply gotten an apartment together, one with a giant bathtub and an even bigger bed. They all tell different stories of how they met and Eponine's fairly sure that only she and Cosette know how it actually happened.

As such, with most of her family halfway around the world, she stays with her boys and their friends, and she's made them her family here. She's so gorgeous it almost hurts to look at her—dark brown eyes, thick black curls that fall past her elbows, the most perfectly shaped mouth ever created. Her skin, a rich tawny color, is clear, and her cheekbones are high and sharp. It helps that she's an incredibly talented singer, a classically trained mezzo, and she's as desperately in love with her boys as they are with her and each other. She tends to mother Les Amis, even if they're all secretly in love with her.

They're eating and chatting between furious bouts of memorization while Musichetta is helping Jehan study Victorian poets when Joly's phone vibrates. "Bossuet's on his way over," he says. "Who's taking the next shift?"

Enjolras untangles himself from Eponine. "I've got this. Did we make him extra food?" he asks, and Bahorel nods, looking at Enjolras knowingly. Enjolras ignores the glance and simply collects his books to dump into a bag.

He's gone within ten minutes, and Eponine tries and fails not to snicker when Courfeyrac starts humming 'Diet Mountain Dew' before actually wailing.

* * *

_I will love you to the end of time_

_I would wait a million years_

Enjolras makes a face as he approaches the apartment, filled with a sudden admiration for Courfeyrac as he opens the door. The music is so loud that it feels like the walls are shaking, and it's a wonder that none of their neighbors have complained yet. Grantaire's bedroom door is closed; Enjolras gently tries the doorknob, and it's locked, so he simply sets his backpack down, unpacks the sandwiches he'd brought for Grantaire, helps himself to one of the beers in the refrigerator, and sits at the kitchen table to get some of his own work done.

It turns out that the sad drugs and unhealthy relationship dynamics all blend together after a little while, and Enjolras has managed to completely tune out any noise besides the scratching of his pen against his notebooks. What he can't ignore, though, is Cat.

Cat is, frankly, terrifying. Since Grantaire adopted him a year and a half ago Cat has discovered that he has two life ambitions. The first is to be a dog. The second is to kill Enjolras.

Enjolras has no idea why Cat targets him but he's got scars up both legs from the countless times that Cat has launched himself at Enjolras and tried to dismember him. If he's being honest he'll admit that when he and Cat battle, everyone knows who's going to win, and it's not the human.

Cat is sitting on the kitchen table watching Enjolras copy his notes with narrowed eyes. He hasn't moved for twenty-six minutes straight except for the slow swish of his tail back and forth and Enjolras is almost entirely certain that if Cat makes any sudden movements, he'll piss himself with fear. The furry little shit seems to be enjoying himself, and closes his eyes before swiveling his head around to start cleaning himself; just as Enjolras starts to relax Cat fixes his eyes on the blond head of curls again.

There's the occasional thump from Grantaire's room that honestly sounds more like him falling off the bed or rolling into something, which is hardly unheard of from Grantaire, In fact, the only thing to suggest that Grantaire might be awake is when Enjolras turns the stereo off and there's a sudden crash of glass against his bedroom door; Cat watches Enjolras smugly as he turns the music back on with a scowl and sits back down.

After a while Cat stands and walks over to Enjolras, who is not above flipping the table over to give himself time to escape, but instead of clawing at him, he simply flops onto his side, half on top of Enjolras' notes. Enjolras lifts one hand warily to brush across the sandy brown fur; when Cat doesn't try to rip his hand off he relaxes a bit.

He doesn't realize how exhausted he is until he falls asleep at the kitchen table, his head on his arms and still on top of his textbook, and Cat shifts over to lay half on Enjolras' face.

They're still like this when Grantaire's bedroom door finally opens, at least an hour later.

* * *

Enjolras wakes to a great weight being removed from the vicinity of his face and a good-natured chuckle. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, and he opens his eyes slowly, languidly, to Grantaire sitting across from him with a strange and almost secretive expression on his face. It's gentle, it's soft, it's sweet, and it's genuinely affectionate.

Grantaire, who _he_ was supposed to be looking out for, is watching him sleep.

He sits up so quickly he makes himself dizzy, and Grantaire chuckles again before digging his spoon into the pint of ice cream he's holding again. "I didn't think you guys were serious about babysitting me this time," he teases, and Enjolras rubs the back of his neck, watching Cat pad over to Grantaire and nuzzle his face before licking at the ice cream. Grantaire either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"I got out here fifteen minutes ago and you were totally out, so probably a while."

He looks exhausted—his face is oddly gaunt, likely from the combination malnutrition and fatigue, likely increased exponentially by the fact that he's eating ice cream with instant coffee crystals sprinkled across the top.

"Christ." Enjolras sighs, his chest constricting a bit with worry and guilt. He was meant to be looking after Grantaire. He was meant to be making sure Grantaire was alright. If he's not… but he seems as fine as they can expect, he supposes, and so he bites his lip to keep himself from ranting and making this about him. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm great, Apollo."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously." His face and hands are covered in ink and drying paints and despite his exhaustion he looks almost pleased. "When did you and Cat strike an alliance?"

Enjolras just shrugs tiredly, and before he can stop himself leans over to brush his thumb across Grantaire's cheek to try and wipe clean some of the still-wet paint. All he wants to do right now is stroke the backs of his fingers across the stubble on Grantaire's jaw (feel the rough scrape of that stubble between bare thighs) and he blames the disorientation of waking up on a table in someone else's apartment in the middle of the day to _Lana Del fucking Rey_ but he does, knuckles brushing across skin and hair, both possessive and reverent and wholly unsure. Grantaire's breathing hitches at this new touch and there's something so vulnerable about him watching his Apollo with wide grey eyes that remind Enjolras of the dead of winter.

When Grantaire looks at him like that Enjolras wants to brush his hair back (fist his hand in those curls) or maybe take his hand (memorize the shape of the inside of his mouth with his tongue) or even just sit next to him, their shoulders pressed together (leave a trail of kisses like breadcrumbs across every inch of him to say _mine, mine, mine_). Instead he withdraws his hand, busying himself with gathering his notes together while Grantaire stares after him in surprise.

If Grantaire notices the way Enjolras brushes those knuckles across his lips very lightly, he doesn't comment. Instead, he clears his throat.

"I haven't eaten anything substantial today," he says hesitantly. "And I saw something that looked like sandwiches. Have you? Eaten, I mean."

Since their fight and subsequent forgiveness of one another following the incident with the locked door, Enjolras has been careful to avoid thinking about Grantaire, even if he's calling him a bit more often than usual. Especially if every time he thinks of Grantaire there's a warm, gentle coiling in the pit of his stomach. Nothing's changed. That's what scares Enjolras. Nothing has changed. They're still exactly the same, and Enjolras' feelings towards Grantaire haven't shifted a bit.

They've always been like this, then, and he's just been too stubborn to notice, and now all he wants is to be touching Grantaire every opportunity he can and with Grantaire sitting across from him with that frankly indecent facial hair (he wants to feel his neck and jaw and lips rubbed raw on it) and with paint on his arms and hands and neck and the thin tee shirt he's wearing (he wants Grantaire to leave him with matching paint stains across his skin, and he's _so tired_ of being clean and untouched) and smelling of cigarettes and coffee (he wants to taste that mouth so thoroughly he can never forget the bitterness and the ash) he's feeling a bit undone.

"I haven't," he says finally, clearing his throat and reaching out to steal Grantaire's spoon, which he digs into the nearly forgotten pint of ice cream.

"Let's do that whole lunch thing, then," Grantaire suggests, "and you can make sure I eat a balanced meal for once and we can sit on something comfortable and then get back to selling our souls to the education system."

"Sounds good."

Grantaire grins like he's just won the lottery, and as he stands and walks over to the fridge to get the sandwiches, he brushes his fingers lightly across the back of Enjolras' neck. "Thanks for looking out for me, Apollo," he says, his voice soft, and it might just be the sweetest sound Enjolras has ever heard.


	5. Chapter 5

Honestly, I'd definitely suggest checking these out on AO3, because I linked to some really wonderful art and graphics that people have made for this series, as well as some questions people have had (which I've answered).

Thank you so much for all the comments! You're all really wonderful and I'm loving this fandom more and more every day.

* * *

There are a lot of things that Eponine Thenardier is lacking but family isn't one of them.

She doesn't have the money she needs to be able to afford the school she's going to, or, more accurately, to afford to pay off the student loans she's taking out (she almost hadn't been able to get them, except that Enjolras simply showed up at the bank the day she went to argue with the manager and co-signed on every last loan before she could come up with a good reason for him not to). She doesn't have a living space big enough for her to live with her younger brother and sister (she'd worry more about them not being able to officially move out, except that Grantaire converted the office in the apartment he shares with Courfeyrac to a bedroom for Gavroche, who sleeps there on a regular basis and tends to bring Azelma with him). She doesn't have health insurance (she would be constantly stressing over that, except that Combeferre and Joly nurse her back to health whenever she gets ill).

She doesn't have the boy she loves (and she would hate that, except that she loves Cosette more).

There are times she starts thinking about this and can't quite stop, like when she comes to Les Amis' meetings and curls up between Musichetta and Combeferre, or when she climbs into Enjolras' bed and falls asleep with that smell of blackcurrant that seems to hang around him filling every breath she takes. When Cosette comes home from a night out with Marius and starts braiding Eponine's hair and huddling close to her. When Jehan writes her poems and slips flowers into her hair on a whim. When Grantaire comes into the café carrying her brother on his back, even though Gavroche is fourteen by now and really doesn't need to be carried anywhere. When Bahorel walks her home every night, even though she carries pepper spray and a knife.

They're the only family she'll ever need.

* * *

They're sitting in Musain when Enjolras gets a call in the middle of a meeting. Normally Enjolras would simply ignore the phone call, but when he looks at the caller ID, all the color drains from his face and he darts outside to take it. Eponine watches after him in concern, but knows better than to try and talk to him when something's happening; he needs to process it on his own first, before he can process it with anyone else.

Grantaire throws her a confused look and she shrugs. Nothing she can do until Enjolras is ready to talk—and from the panicked look on his face as he stands outside the front of the café, appearing to sink into the window with exhaustion or sadness, she can't tell, he's not ready yet.

Instead, she glances uncomfortably at Musichetta, who laces her fingers into Eponine's and smiles. "He'll be fine," she promises. Musichetta's hand is soft and strong, and Eponine has a brief moment's jealousy when she considers that Bossuet and Joly get to hold her hands all the time. Eponine tucks her head on Musichetta's shoulder and clears her throat, hoping to find some way to distract everyone long enough to give Enjolras some privacy.

"So, uh, are we still on for movie night at R and Courf's place this weekend?"

There's a murmur of agreement and Cosette cheerfully suggests that they watch a terrible movie with no plot, because bad movies are her favorite movies, and this evolves into a good-natured debate on what movies they should consider and which they should reject on principle. They must be talking for about ten minutes or so when Eponine untangles herself from around Musichetta to slip outside.

Enjolras is sitting on the pavement, ignoring the strange looks he's getting from passersby, with his head bowed and his hands in his hair. He looks up when Eponine clears her throat and shrugs.

"Dr. Lamarque had a stroke."

Of all the things that Eponine had expected to hear—another fight with his parents, a call about some crisis in some city she couldn't locate on a map if her life depended on it, the library threatening to have his head if he doesn't stop renewing books six times in a row—this is not one of them. Enjolras' voice is thin, quiet, and young, and she has no idea how to handle this.

Instead of trying to handle it, Eponine sinks down next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He responds to her touch by instinct, lifting his head and releasing his curls to slide a hand into hers and squeeze tightly.

Dr. Lamarque. The professor who, quite literally, changed Enjolras' life. The reason Enjolras is the way he is, passionate and intense and focused. "How is he?"

"He can't move the right side of his body and he's not talking, but he's… alive." Eponine squeezes his hand back. "That was his wife. He wants to see me to talk about his classes." He lets out a bitter laugh. "He's worse than me, I swear."

"He is." Eponine leans over and presses a kiss to his temple. "Come on. Get up. I'll drive you."

* * *

**Grantaire: **what's going on?

**Eponine:** Dr. Lamarque had a stroke. He's in the hospital. I'm driving enjolras to go see him now.

**Grantaire:** combeferre and i are on our way

**Eponine:** You don't have to come if you don't want to…

**Grantaire:** and let the two of u do this on ur own?

**Grantaire:** no thanx

**Grantaire:** we'll be there in half an hour and we'll bring coffee.

* * *

Eponine sits in the hospital waiting room while Enjolras and Mrs. Lamarque discuss something in hushed tones. Dr. Lamarque is worse off than they'd thought, and Enjolras is patiently translating his adviser's slurred French to the thoroughly confused intern. When Grantaire and Combeferre get there, carrying coffees for themselves as well as Enjolras and Eponine, she nearly melts into the uncomfortable waiting room chair in relief; Grantaire gives her a careful hug, trying and mostly succeeding to not spill the coffees.

"How's he holding up?" Combeferre asks, holding out a cup for her, and Eponine shrugs listlessly.

"He's worse than we thought. Enjolras has been in there for over two hours. He's refusing to leave Mrs. Lamarque alone until they know more."

Grantaire frowns. "I didn't realize he was so close to them."

"Makes sense," Combeferre muses, sitting down only after Eponine has. "His parents have never really been good for him. Dr. Lamarque's something of a father figure for him."

None of them say what they're thinking, which is that if Dr. Lamarque doesn't recover, they've got no idea how Enjolras is going to handle it. Instead, they sit in silence, drinking their coffee and keeping their eyes away from one another's. After a few minutes, Grantaire sighs.

"Ponine, you've got an early class tomorrow, don't you?"

"Yeah, eight AM."

"Go home. Get some sleep. I'll stay." Before Eponine can argue, Grantaire offers her a crooked smile. "I never go to class anyway, and I'm sober right now." They must look impressed, because Grantaire rolls his eyes. "Go let him know. I'll drive him home."

Eponine considers this, before realizing that this is probably the best course of action. She and Combeferre make their way to Dr. Lamarque's room and let Enjolras know, who just nods absently as if he's barely listening. Mrs. Lamarque looks up at them tearfully and smiles, though her thin, wrinkled lips are trembling. On a whim, Eponine leans down and hugs her, and the old woman clings to her like she's a raft.

* * *

The drive home is silent. Eponine's always liked Combeferre—he's smart, he's practical, and he's surprisingly sensitive for someone who spends so much time with such casually thoughtless people. She loves all of Les Amis, but Cosette and Enjolras are her favorites, followed by Combeferre.

He only speaks when she stops at his dorm. "How are you holding up?" he asks softly, and she frowns, looking over at him in surprise.

"I'm alright," she answers after a moment.

"You tend to have to take care of everyone all the time. You're everybody's anchor." He smiles at her, and she feels something in her stomach flip. He's got a sweet smile. How has she never noticed how sweet his smile is? "It's got to get stressful. Listen, if you ever need to talk or something, call me. Any time. I don't mind. In fact, I encourage it."

Her palms are tingling, and Eponine nods. "Thanks," she says quietly, looking Combeferre over. He's got a mess of auburn hair that he tends to run his fingers through when he's stressed—considering that he's taking twenty-two credits this semester, he's been doing that a lot lately. His hair looks like it would feel good between her fingers. "I'll keep that in mind." His eyes are bright behind his glasses, and he's got the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. It's a weakness of hers.

Combeferre is fifty shades of not her type. She tends to date people who give her the chance to indulge in the most unhealthy aspects of her personality—her desire for codependence, her desire to live fast without much concern for the consequences. But still, she's blushing while she looks at the serious and sweet pre-med student sitting next to her. He looks ridiculously at ease in her beat-up piece-of-shit car, with the broken plastic of her dashboard and the cracking leather of her seats.

She dated Montparnasse for a while, a hacker with a fondness for motorcycles and cars and with a golden touch when it came to mechanics, but they'd drifted apart. She even had a thing with Courfeyrac for a bit, but it was short-lived; they are much better friends than they were lovers, even if the sex was fun and playful and exciting. They'd both been partiers, and they'd both encouraged her to partake in her vices in excess.

Maybe she's getting sick of excess.

Combeferre looks over at her and grins. "I'll see you later," he says, and she nods, watching him get out of the car with a sort of attention that makes her blush even deeper.

* * *

She texts Enjolras the next morning, after her first class, only to find out that he's going to be teaching a couple of Dr. Lamarque's classes. He's stubbornly insisting that Dr. Lamarque will be fine, that he'll be back on his feet in no time, and she responds cheerfully, but she's doubtful.

She's exhausted, though, so she heads back to her room and crawls into bed next to Cosette, who doesn't have class until noon and doesn't plan on moving before at least eleven. Cosette just groans and wraps both arms and legs around her—she's a goddamn sloth, Eponine swears—before falling back asleep.

When Eponine wakes up she's got six texts waiting for her. Three are from Enjolras, who apparently really enjoys teaching ("They listened! They took notes!" "ONE OF THEM JUST ASKED ME TO EXPLAIN THE BENEFITS OF ANARCHOCOMMUNISM I'M GOING TO CRY THIS IS GREAT"), one is from Grantaire, and two are from Combeferre, asking how she is and if she managed to get any sleep.

She answers those first, with a silly smile she can't quite explain.

* * *

**Grantaire:** hey so do we have one of those rules where i can't hook up with yr ex

**Eponine:** If you're finally going to bang courf let me tell you he's better on bottom

**Grantaire:** …

**Grantaire:** no not that ex jesus fucking christ thenardier some of us have standards

**Eponine:** Well, go for it, but…

**Grantaire:** ?

**Eponine:** What about enjolras?

**Grantaire:** idk what ur talking about

* * *

It slips out entirely by accident that day when they run into each other at the campus' coffee shop, Eponine heading in and Combeferre heading out. They nearly collide, and they laugh, and suddenly Eponine asks, "So, um, are you seeing anyone?"

Combeferre looks surprised, but not unpleasantly so, and the corners of his mouth curl up. "No. I'm not."

"Oh. Okay. Good."

"Good?"

"Good."

He just laughs again, and there's the sweetest blush coloring his cheeks. "Why is that good?"

Eponine shrugs, summoning whatever courage and confidence she can find in herself. "It just is."

"Huh. Okay." Combeferre takes a sip of his coffee and examines her curiously before asking, "What about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"No."

"Good," Combeferre shoots back, and Eponine bites her lip and laughs and grins and tucks her chin into her scarf to hide her face. "I'll see you around."

"See you," she calls after him, and she just stands there for a minute or so, grinning hugely as she does, before making her way to the line. Her stomach's still doing backflips when she leaves.

* * *

Enjolras spends almost every free moment he has at the hospital, telling Dr. Lamarque everything that's been happening in his classes, and about how Dr. Valjean sat in on one and told him that he had a real talent and even backed him up to the dean of the college. Eponine brings Mrs. Lamarque to the cafeteria so she can get something to eat and so she doesn't have to be alone—they don't have any kids, which is probably why Dr. Lamarque became attached to Enjolras so quickly.

Mrs. Lamarque and Eponine talk about anything and everything except the man lying in a hospital bed a few floors up. She asks about Azelma, about Cosette, about Musichetta. She asks about what Eponine wants to do when she gets out of school; when Eponine says she's going to go into social work, specifically to work with abused kids, Mrs. Lamarque smiles at her, her face folding into deep laugh lines, the kind you get from a life filled with genuine smiles like that one.

When Eponine brings Mrs. Lamarque back up to her husband's room, he's asleep and Enjolras is working on what looks like a lesson plan. And when Eponine goes to leave, Grantaire is sitting in the same seat he always is in the waiting room, waiting for Enjolras.

She asked him the other day why he waits there; he just shrugged. Eponine knows that, regardless of whoever he's hooking up with, his place is wherever Enjolras is.

* * *

She can't sleep that night, and she tosses and turns until about two in the morning, when, on a whim, she picks up her phone from where it's resting on the windowsill next to her bed. Before she can talk herself out of it she sends of a quick text to Combeferre, asking if he's awake.

Eponine is starting to wish she hadn't when, about four minutes later, he responds that yes, he is. With a small smile, she asks if she'd woken him, and he says no, he was studying.

"Any chance you want a break?" she texts, and a minute later he responds with "YES."

It's only when Cosette groans in her sleep that Eponine realizes how loud she's laughing. "I'm heading over," she texts back, scribbling a quick note for Cosette before yanking on a pair of jeans over the boxer shorts she sleeps in and an unzipped hoodie over her tank top. It's not until she reaches the car that she realizes Combeferre texted back.

"I can't wait."

* * *

Combeferre is waiting for her outside the apartment building, his shoulders hunched against the cold, his hair a mess, wearing a pair of jeans and an old leather jacket that always surprises her, no matter how many times she's seen it, over another one of his button-ups. His clothes are wrinkled, and he looks tired, but Eponine's heart jumps a little when she sees him.

He looks at her and his smile takes up his entire face and suddenly she wonders how she didn't quite notice him this way before, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle just a bit when he really smiles, or the way he's starting to form smile lines around his mouth, or the way he looks with the beginnings of stubble across his jaw and cheeks.

Before she can start walking towards him he's walking towards her car, and Eponine chews the inside of her cheek, trying not to grin too much the closer he comes to her. When he gets to her, he just laughs.

"We're responsible adults," he observes, and she snickers, holding her hand out to him, and he takes it.

"Come on. I want to show you something."

* * *

They drive for probably twenty minutes in near complete silence. Eponine's sneaking glances at him when she thinks he's not looking; he must be doing the same because every now and again they both catch each other and laugh and blush and look back out the windshield.

Eponine doesn't do this. She doesn't go out in the middle of the night with a boy she only really started noticing a few days ago. She doesn't practically glow every time said boy looks at her. But here she is, and it's nice, that as soon as he got into the car next to her he'd reached for her hand. And it's nice that when she pulls over on the bridge over the river that runs just outside the town's limits and brings him outside to sit on the cold asphalt he doesn't question it, just sits across from her.

"Why is it good that I'm not seeing anyone?" she asks after a moment's silence, broken only by the rushing of water beneath them, and Combeferre just smiles.

He doesn't blush or shrug or stammer or even pause. He just smiles and answers. "I like you, and I think you probably like me back, and if you were seeing someone I'd be bound by basic decency to respect that, but since you're not I can tell you that I really, really like you." They sit in silence again for a minute while she thinks this over, her cheeks flushed and her lips curled up in the silliest smile, before he nudges her foot with his. "How about you?"

"What do you mean, how about me?"

"Why is it good that I'm not seeing anyone?"

Eponine grins. "Because you're right."

"Oh?"

"I like you back."

Combeferre's smile is honestly one of the sweetest things she's seen in a long time, and he nudges her foot with his again. "Good," he says, and she nods, her smile matching hers.

"Good." Then, emboldened, she asks, "Can I kiss you?"

"You definitely can," Combeferre laughs, and she leans forward to press her lips tentatively to his, except it's not quite so tentative and for someone who really only wears solid-color button-up shirts and orders regular coffee at Starbucks, he's one hell of a kisser.

* * *

**Grantaire:** hey, u busy?

**Eponine:** No, why?

**Grantaire:** movie night, jackass. my place. don't tell me u forgot.

**Grantaire:** oh no u forgot didn't u

**Grantaire:** how could u forget me ep i'm weeping

**Grantaire: **WEEPING

**Eponine:** Shut the fuck up i'm on my way

**Grantaire:** xoxo gossip r

* * *

Cosette and Courfeyrac have a running sarcastic commentary of the movie they're all watching, which Marius occasionally interrupts indignantly. Grantaire and Enjolras are texting even though they're in the same room, and Enjolras keeps trying to look exasperated but can't quite stop snickering and grinning, and when Cat walks by, he actually reaches down to scratch behind his ears—Cat, for the record, doesn't try to maim him. Jehan is writing in his journal while Musichetta braids his hair and Joly and Bossuet, sitting next to one another on Musichetta's other side, cuddle and kiss every now and again. Bahorel and Feuilly are taking bets on who's going to die next, and Combeferre's got his fingers laced into Eponine's.

They're her family, she muses, shifting closer to Combeferre, who keeps looking at her with tiny smiles as if he keeps rediscovering her next to him, and he unlaces his fingers from hers to slip his arm around her waist. She really can't imagine a better one.


	6. Chapter 6

WOW THIS GOT REALLY SAD I'M REALLY SORRY

reminder that I am also on AO3 as truethingsproved and that on there I can link to the beautiful graphics that some incredibly lovely readers have made and you should totally check them out

thank you SO MUCH to everyone reading and following and commenting. I love you all to bits.

* * *

Grantaire's presence at the hospital is becoming too regular. It's starting to get almost uncomfortable. Every day when Enjolras arrives, Grantaire is there, and the artist always walks him to his car, despite the cold. It's good to have a friend there, and to be perfectly honest Enjolras would prefer Grantaire over just about anyone else—Grantaire just sits there in silence without touching him, which is more than anyone else would do—but Enjolras is concerned.

If he comes to depend on Grantaire he's just going to be that much more lost when Grantaire finally gets sick of being around him.

They sit there together in the waiting room, Grantaire's nose buried in a book and Enjolras sneaking glances at him whenever he can as if to ensure that he's still here. Grantaire pretends not to notice. It's just like any other of the dozens of times that they've done this—it's been nearly two weeks since the stroke—except that today Enjolras knows that Grantaire's got a boyfriend.

Well, no, he's got a Montparnasse, and they're hardly the same thing, but Grantaire's regularly having back-breaking sex with someone else. And Enjolras isn't even a little bit jealous.

Nope.

Not in the slightest.

If he goes halfway across town to see another mechanic when his check engine light comes on and stays on it's not even a little bit related.

* * *

**Enjolras:** The engine was flooded. I needed a new engine. This new guy charged me six hundred bucks.

**Eponine:** why didn't you just go see monty?

**Enjolras:** I don't think he does very good work.

**Eponine:** there are only two things monty knows better than sex. the first is computers and the second is cars. and that boy's a pro.

**Enjolras:** …

**Enjolras: **You have terrible taste in men.

**Eponine:** hey, combeferre's great, shut your trap.

**Enjolras:** Yeah, yeah. You still have generally bad taste in men. I mean, exhibit a: Pontmercy.

* * *

The dean of the college is coming to sit in on one of the classes Enjolras is teaching for Dr. Lamarque. His condition is continuing to deteriorate; he can barely speak any English at this point and so Enjolras and Mrs. Lamarque spend about ninety percent of their time with him translating for the interns.

Needless to say, he's nervous. Not because he doesn't think he's doing well—he knows he is—but because he doesn't want Dr. Lamarque's classes to end up cancelled, because they're important. Life-changing important. He mentions this to Eponine, who mentions it to Combeferre, who lets slip to Jehan, who can't keep a secret from Courfeyrac, who tells everyone else—Cosette included—who tells Grantaire.

Which explains why when the dean sits in on the class there's a familiar mop of black curls in the back hunched over a notebook.

Grantaire barely even goes to his own classes, let alone knowingly volunteering to go to anyone else's. Still, he tucks himself into one of the seats at the back, doesn't say a word, barely even looks up, except for the occasional furtive glance in Enjolras' direction. Cosette's sitting next to him, her face permanently set in an encouraging and bright smile, and Joly is on Grantaire's other side.

At the end of the class Enjolras looks up to see if they've waited but Grantaire is gone. He hides his disappointment by tucking his face into Cosette's shoulder when she hugs him and tells him what a great job he'd done. It's true; he is always particularly inspired when he's trying to convince someone in particular. Grantaire is always his best and brightest audience.

Joly notices the disappointment but doesn't say a word, just claps him on the shoulder with pride when the dean says that he doesn't see why Enjolras can't continue until they find a permanent replacement.

* * *

**Enjolras: **It's not that I dislike Montparnasse. It's just that I don't particularly like him. I'm generally indifferent to him.

**Eponine:** keep telling yourself that kid

**Enjolras:** What are you talking about?

**Eponine:** you're so indifferent to him that you text me at one in the morning to tell me that

**Enjolras:** I don't want you getting the wrong idea.

**Eponine:** well maybe if you say it long enough it'll come true

**Eponine:** click your heels together three times

**Eponine:** I DO BELIEVE THAT MONTPARNASSE ISN'T THE ANTICHRIST I DO I DO

**Enjolras:** I'm pretty sure part of that was actually a reference to Peter Pan.

**Eponine: **go the fuck to sleep, apollo.

* * *

Dr. Lamarque's death is a quiet affair.

One minute he's breathing regularly and the next he's not. Enjolras is the only thing that makes this less quiet—he's outside the hospital room shouting at the interns that Dr. Lamarque didn't actually mean it when he signed that he was DNR, that he needs to come back, how can they just leave him there to die like that when he's still got so much life ahead of him. Mrs. Lamarque is inside, laying on the hospital bed beside her husband with a watery, trembling smile, because it's over. Thank god it's over, she seems to tell Grantaire, who's in the room with her holding her hand, even though he's never met her, even if he's only had one class with her husband, even if he smells of whiskey. After a few minutes he releases her to head out of the room and curl his fingers around Enjolras' wrist.

"It's done," he says softly, and Enjolras deflates because his insides are hollow and there's nothing to give him shape anymore.

He drives them all home, walking Mrs. Lamarque into her house and promising to bring Enjolras over tomorrow to help with funeral arrangements, and, on a whim, he offers to stay with her if she needs the support, but she just shakes her head and smiles and says that she can't feel alone in the house her husband built her, and so once he's sure she's alright he brings Enjolras back to the car and drives them past Enjolras' apartment building.

Enjolras shoots a confused look in Grantaire's direction but it only lasts about half a second because Enjolras is far too tired to feel anything anymore.

When they arrive at Grantaire's apartment it's empty. Grantaire thanks his lucky stars that Courfeyrac had gotten his text and gone to spend the night with Jehan, because the last thing that Enjolras needs right now is to be surrounded by people. He leads Enjolras up the steps with a gentle hand on his elbow, the touch more intimate than anything they've ever shared, and when they get to Grantaire's bedroom he slowly walks around to peel Enjolras' jacket away and drape it over the chair to his desk.

"I'll take the couch," he says softly, and he needs a fucking drink. "Shout if you need me. Um. Borrow something of mine to sleep in."

It's a wonder that Grantaire's taking control in any situation, but he's there, he's always there, and Enjolras stares after him with an expression caught between grief and gratitude.

* * *

Grantaire wakes up a few hours later with a pounding headache and an almost-empty bottle of whiskey that was definitely at least half full the last time he looked, though he's not the most reliable when it comes to memory sometimes, and he swears that he only means to get a glass of water to maybe control this horrible headache, except he somehow ends up standing in the doorway to his bedroom as he practically tips the coffee mug full of water down his throat.

Enjolras is in his bed, curled up facing the wall and shaking, and Grantaire's heart aches in ways not even the alcohol could make him forget.

Something is clearly possessing him to do this but he climbs into the bed beside him and gently reaches over to curl his hand around Enjolras' neck, his thumb tracing back and forth along his spine almost lovingly, and Enjolras stops trying to be silent as he outright sobs, wrenching and harsh and terrible. They lay like this as Enjolras' sobs become increasingly more violent and after a while Grantaire just rolls onto his side and removes his hand from Enjolras' neck to wrap his arm around the other man's waist and pull him closer until his back is pressed against his chest.

He's expecting Enjolras to push him away or to pull away or anything that ends with renewed distance between them but instead Enjolras clings to his arm with one hand and shudders and they fall asleep like this, drained and exhausted and anything but okay.

* * *

Of all the things for Enjolras to expect when he wakes up in Grantaire's bed wearing the other man's shirt, it's definitely not to find a cup of coffee waiting for him.

Last night is honestly something of a blur. He remembers Grantaire staying at the hospital with him far longer than usual while doctors crowded around Dr. Lamarque; Grantaire fishing Enjolras' keys out of his pocket because he was in no condition to drive; Grantaire with his hand on Enjolras' arm, leading him out of the hospital and to his car; Grantaire bringing him back to his apartment because it's quieter, peeling his jacket off. Grantaire insisting that he take the bed before wandering off to curl up on the couch.

Grantaire climbing back into the bed and actually fucking _holding_ him and pretending that he couldn't feel Enjolras shaking and sobbing next to him.

Grantaire grinning into his hair in a way he could feel rather than see when Enjolras tried to apologize and saying, "You can't hold it together all the time, Apollo," just before Enjolras falls asleep.

There's a hastily-scrawled note on the bedside table, under the coffee, which is hot enough that it can't have been left there more than ten minutes before, which reads "_Out to pick up groceries. Help yourself to whatever you want and call me if you need me. Eponine's on her way over"_ and is simply signed "-R". Enjolras sits up and turns the note over in his hands before brushing his fingers lightly over the signature.

He cried. In front of Grantaire. Grantaire, of all people, and after finally (finally!) coming to the conclusion that he wants more than just a couple of quick fucks (which would really be no big deal—he's slept with Jehan and Courfeyrac before and it didn't change a thing in their friendship), he wants hand holding and paint samples and hardwood floors and shared beds. He cried, and he was held with the kind of tenderness you only get from a truly genuine love for someone, regardless of its nature, and the room smells like Grantaire's cigarettes and he's starting to feel sick.

Before he can consider this he hears the door open and practically flings the note away from him just as Eponine comes into Grantaire's room and immediately wraps her arms around Enjolras. "How are you holding up?" she asks, and suddenly he's crying again: big, angry tears carving tracks down his face, and she wraps her arms around him and brushes her fingers through his hair the way he always does for her when she's crying.

She holds him tightly and he holds her back and she's crying, too, leaving little wet droplets on the shoulder of the shirt he'd borrowed from Grantaire. They don't speak, because what can you say to this? He's not okay. His mentor, the closest thing he has to a father—had to a father—is dead, and he can't stop shaking and crying and reaching back to run his fingers along the tattoo on the back of his neck as if to remind himself that Dr. Lamarque really was there at all.

Enjolras almost wishes he wasn't.

* * *

When Grantaire returns Enjolras is dressed in clothes that Eponine had brought for him and Grantaire misses the sight of him wearing that ratty old tee shirt bitterly. The two are eating a somber and silent breakfast of a shared bagel and muffin and Eponine looks up with a smile but Enjolras won't look at him at all.

And since two can play at that game Grantaire simply and stubbornly takes a seat across from Enjolras and doesn't say a word, but he sure as hell won't look away.

After a few minutes Enjolras clears his throat. "Thank you for letting me stay here last night."

"Mi casa es tu casa," Grantaire replies instantly and with a terrible Spanish accent, and Enjolras looks like he wants to smile at that but won't let himself.

They have another few minutes of increasingly uncomfortable silence before Enjolras gestures vaguely at the living room. "I like your coffee table."

Grantaire just raises his eyebrows and nods, his lips pursed. He'd spilled paint on the coffee table once and had simply appropriated the space to be used for sketches and notes and graffiti in general and it's now a paint-stained, doodled-on surface that no one ever really uses for much. Enjolras has seen it a thousand times. He wants to ask if Enjolras will like it better if Grantaire fucks him across it but refrains. Now is not the time.

"Thanks."

Abruptly, Enjolras stands. "I should get over to Mrs. Lamarque's."

"I'll drive you," Grantaire offers, but Enjolras shakes his head so adamantly that it feels like a slap in the face. Was it really so bad, laying there with him, sleeping next to him, being held by him?

Of course. Grantaire's a drunken fuckup and Enjolras is a fucking god and gods don't give a damn about self-destructive acolytes.

"Eponine's bringing me," Enjolras explains, and he walks out the door so hastily he doesn't even say goodbye. Eponine follows, flashing Grantaire an apologetic smile, and once they're out the door Grantaire pulls his phone out and calls Montparnasse.

"Hey," he says, welcoming the rush of blood between his legs with a bitter smile, "you free?"

* * *

**Eponine:** hey r please don't be upset

**Eponine:** enjolras is in a really bad place right now and he's just overwhelmed

**Eponine:** he was rude, absolutely, but he really does appreciate everything you do for him

**Eponine:** r?

**Eponine:** …r?

* * *

For the first time, when Enjolras knocks on the door to Grantaire's apartment, no one comes to let him in.

* * *

Montparnasse is good at a lot of things. Hacking, for starters. He's shut down credit card companies before. Grantaire's pretty sure he's part of Anonymous. He's great with cars—which is how he and Grantaire started hooking up, actually, when he'd ended up blowing Grantaire before fucking him across the hood of the car he was fixing. And he's incredible at sex.

He's the perfect distraction, Grantaire realizes, because he's got the stamina of the fucking Energizer bunny and he likes being fucked hard and he likes being left with bite marks and bruises across his back and neck, likes being marked in all the ways he can't mark Enjolras.

Every thrust forward of his hips makes him think of how fucking angry he is at Enjolras, angry enough that he doesn't answer his phone or the door or really acknowledge a world outside of his bedroom and the admittedly beautiful boy in his bed. Montparnasse is gorgeous. Long hair, usually tied back, a neatly trimmed goatee, usually wearing leather pants or something similar. He's covered in tattoos and looks like something out of a metal band. Grantaire loves it because he's so fucking different from Enjolras and at the same time so very fundamentally similar.

They're both passionate, both fierce, both achingly beautiful, and both way too brilliant to be wasting their time with him.

He's wandering into the kitchen completely naked to get them both a beer when he hears a key scraping in the lock, and he viciously hopes it's Enjolras as the door swings open. He immediately wishes he could swallow that wish when he sees that it is, in fact, Enjolras, using the spare key.

They almost instantly look away from one another, though Grantaire doesn't miss the way Enjolras' eyes rake across the almost graceful curve of his spine when he bends forward to pick up the bottle that, shockingly, didn't break when he'd dropped it in surprise, and Enjolras clears his throat. "I, uh, forgot my jacket," he says by way of explanation, averting his eyes, and as if anything could possibly make this work, Montparnasse walks out, looking wonderfully debauched and fucked half to exhaustion.

Montparnasse walks out equally naked.

Grantaire wants to crawl under his nice coffee table and never come back out.

"Hey," Montparnasse calls, taking one of the beers Grantaire holds out for him, and Enjolras simply turns around and leaves.

* * *

**Enjolras:** Alright, fine, fucking fine, I hate him.

**Enjolras:** I hate Montparnasse.

**Enjolras:** I hate his abs and his perfect ass and the skill at sex that it doesn't seem like you exaggerated even a little.

**Enjolras:** I hate his cars and his computers and his tattoos and his leather pants and the way he looks at Grantaire.

**Enjolras:** AND I HATE HIS GOATEE.

**Enjolras:** WHO THE FUCK HAS A GOATEE IN REAL LIFE.

**Eponine:** you ok?

**Enjolras:** no.

**Enjolras:** I'd look awful with a goatee.

* * *

The funeral home is crowded as half the school pours in. Enjolras sits with Mrs. Lamarque up front, and there's an empty seat next to him only because no one else seems willing to go up there. Eponine sits behind him, occasionally reaching forward to squeeze his shoulders in support, and beside her sit Cosette (who's holding her father's hand and crying quietly and somehow managing to be beautiful even while she cries) and Combeferre, who's got his hand resting on the small of Eponine's back and who actually reaches over to brush her tears away with his thumb. Next to Combeferre is Courfeyrac, then Jehan, then Marius, then Bahorel, Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta.

The entire group is there, not because they all knew Dr. Lamarque but because they're not making Enjolras do this alone. All except Grantaire.

Enjolras hasn't spoken to him since walking in on him with Montparnasse and he's exhausted because he fucking misses him, and he's about to cave and call him and beg him to come because he can't do this alone when the doors open and in walks a girl with shocking red hair that looks out of place even in a college town, her arm through Grantaire's.

He deposits the redhead beside Musichetta, who hugs her tightly before kissing her on the cheek, and makes his way up to sit beside Enjolras.

"Sorry I'm late," he says quietly. "My sister's flight only just got in. She insisted on coming; said it was the least she could do with how much she bugs you."

It's true—Mary Kate tends to call Enjolras twice a week and demand updates on how her brother's doing, complete with _the last time I left him in your care he ended up in the hospital so don't you try and tell me that he's fine with you_. Enjolras is too busy gaping at Grantaire to do much of anything, and the priest starts talking and they all stand and suddenly there's a hand, warm and soft and calloused, in Enjolras'.

They don't speak. Enjolras says the prayers in a monotone because they're habit, and Grantaire stays strangely, respectfully, silent. When they exchange the sign of peace Enjolras breathes in deeply and all he can smell is Grantaire's deodorant and the lingering scent of fast food, but no alcohol, which explains why Grantaire's hand is shaking even in his.

That he came at all is a shock.

That he came sober is even more of one.

But the way he looks at Enjolras makes him want to cry and kiss him and get sick all over his shoes because he's never seen someone look at him like that before, like he's the only thing good left in the world, and Grantaire is still absolutely furious (and with reason to be—Eponine had scolded Enjolras in the car the whole way to Mrs. Lamarque's and Enjolras had started six or seven different versions of _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I don't know how I'm going to sleep in my own bed after this_ before deleting them all and putting his phone away.

When the funeral ends and they make their way out of the funeral home—it's going to be a private burial, and Mrs. Lamarque wants to do this alone, and of course Enjolras will respect that—Grantaire still hasn't let go of his hand, and Enjolras is crying again.

He stumbles back when Mary Kate literally throws herself at him with more strength than any seventeen-year-old should have, and he kisses her hair familiarly, because he does like her quite a bit when she's not being awful, which is about fifteen percent of the time.

Everyone else hugs him, carefully, asking if he's going to be okay and if he needs anything, and after they've left (or at least moved to fuss over Mary Kate a good distance away) Grantaire turns to Enjolras and shrugs.

"I'm glad you came," Enjolras says quietly, and Grantaire actually grunts.

"You needed me," he answers simply, as if that's all that matters, and with a jolt Enjolras realizes that it is all that matters as far as Grantaire's concerned. He bites his lip hard enough that he fears he might draw blood and Grantaire practically glares at him. It seems to take a frankly indecent effort for Grantaire not to leap at him right then and there and bite that lip himself.

Enjolras sort of wishes he would.

"Sorry, ah, about walking in on that."

"I don't care. Don't worry about it. Montparnasse didn't care either."

"How… is he?"

"He's annoyed that his boyfriend's so free about bringing other men into bed."

The corner of Enjolras' mouth quirks up and he looks Grantaire over, noticing the perfect cut of his suit jacket and pants, and how much this works for him. "What did you say to that?"

Grantaire just laughs sheepishly. "I asked when he got a boyfriend. Apparently that was the wrong answer. Also, I think we broke up, but I don't know if you can do that when you didn't actually know you were involved with the other person?"

Enjolras can't help but laugh at that in response, and Grantaire relaxes instantly. "Thank you, for looking after me. I needed that. You were really great and I appreciate that and I—honestly, I haven't slept since," he confesses, almost inaudibly, and before he can say anything else Grantaire pulls him forward in a rough but warm hug.

"Keep your head up, Apollo," he instructs simply when he pulls away, and he turns around and heads back to the rest of the crowd, slinging his arm around Mary Kate's shoulders. From over Combeferre's shoulder Eponine shoots Enjolras a small smile, and he nods back at her.

* * *

Cat falls asleep curled up on the shirt Enjolras slept in.

Grantaire can't bring himself to disturb either the cat or the shirt and simply leaves them both.


	7. Chapter 7

HEY WOW YOU'RE ALL GREAT AND YOU'VE SAID SUCH LOVELY THINGS :) Warning for police brutality, blood/bruises, speeches re: the death penalty and racist/sexist/anti-trans*/anti-queer violence. Nothing graphic, though, promise. Like I've said, I'm also truethingsproved on AO3, and I have links to some really lovely art up there, as well as links to other drabbles in this universe. Thank you all SO MUCH!

* * *

When Eponine mentions that she loves James Bond films Combeferre does what he always does and files it away, carefully, in the back of his mind. They're a bit preoccupied—she'd arrived at the door to his apartment with next to no warning and simply knocked until he opened the door before grabbing his hand and dragging him to the roof of the building, where they'd laid back and stared up at the stars. Of all the things Combeferre knows, astronomy isn't one of them, so he makes it up; it's a warm night for March, and at one point Eponine takes her shirt off and turns so he can see the light freckles across her back, which he traces carefully and relates to the stars.

They've been together a few weeks now and winter is thawing into spring with all of the best indications—the air smells like new life bursting out of the earth and the sun graces them with its presence long enough that he's starting to remember what it feels like to be warm. He can't justify turning the heat on when he's got sweaters, and so when the days get shorter and colder he simply layers. (It would make Marius furious, except that he tends to spend almost all of his time with Cosette anyway.)

But even when Eponine smiles at him so brilliantly he actually stops breathing for a moment, even when she flicks the frame of his glasses before pressing into him and kissing him with all her might, he remembers the things she loves, the things she wants, so that when she comes a few days later he's learned the theme on his cello (which she loves to watch him play), and he's got a small stack of used DVDs. They climb into his bed and wrap themselves in a million blankets and have a marathon that they stop paying attention to a few hours in because her hands are warm against his skin.

The point is, Combeferre is dependable, in all the ways that matter, because he's dependable even when it's not strictly a big deal. He's dependable when he needs to keep an eye on Enjolras and keep him out of trouble, and he's dependable when Grantaire needs someone to hold his hair back when he's sick, and he's dependable when his girlfriend mentions how much she loves some ridiculous film franchise he never really got into.

Everyone expects it of him. They all have roles in their little group. Enjolras is their fearless leader, their chief, their general and their ruler, and every last one of them would follow him to their deaths or, less dramatically and like a nineteenth-century novel, a jail cell. Courfeyrac is their light and their center, the heart that keeps the blood pumping and the group warm. Courfeyrac always has a smile ready, a joke to share, something, _anything_, to remind the others that there's good to be found in whatever dark times they encounter. And if Enjolras is the head and Courfeyrac is the heart, Combeferre is the guide, the skeleton, the shield, the one who keeps everyone protected and safe and moving.

It's because of him, then, that they do end up going to that rally in the city, because Combeferre is the one who arrives at Enjolras' apartment that morning and pries him out of bed and reminds him that _this is what you were made for. This is what Dr. Lamarque wanted you to do._

He's knocking on Grantaire's door, prepared to have to do the same for him, when Grantaire opens the door, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with the bruising darkness of exhaustion, fully dressed with a cup of coffee in his hands. "You look like shit," Combeferre says frankly, and Grantaire laughs, though the sound is weak and tired and frankly kind of furious.

"I'm regrettably sober," he informs his friend, stepping aside to let him in. "I don't trust Enjolras to have his head on straight today. He's exhausted, he's grieving, and he's fucking furious. Someone's got to keep an eye on him."

"You all usually expect me to do that," Combeferre says wryly, and Grantaire shrugs.

"You've got Eponine now and she's going to be your top priority. I dig it, by the way. She's gorgeous and smart and fun and she needs someone reliable in her life and you're pretty much perfect for her." Grantaire downs the rest of his coffee, making a face at the bitterness before pouring himself another cup and then a second for Combeferre. "I'm not leaving him to do this alone. Courf will look after Jehan. Marius will look after Cosette. Well, no, Cosette will look after Marius. My point is, everyone's kind of paired up and someone needs to have an eye on him first and foremost."

Combeferre nods knowingly, even fondly, and is about to drink his coffee when Mary Kate barrels into the kitchen and takes a running leap at Grantaire, throwing her arms around his neck. She's dressed as well, wearing a too-big leather jacket and with her hair tied back. "Are you coming with us?" he asks, and she grins.

"Duh. Like I'd miss this for anything except maybe Tudors reruns," she replies, releasing her brother to place a fat, sloppy kiss on Combeferre's cheek. "Come on, boys, let's get moving. The earth ain't gonna free herself."

* * *

**Enjolras:** Hey, I'm wiped out. I probably shouldn't be driving today. How reliable is Mary Kate behind the wheel?

**Grantaire:** ha

**Grantaire:** ha ha

**Grantaire: **ha ha

**Grantaire:** ha

**Grantaire:** ha

**Grantaire:** ha

**Grantaire:** NO

**Enjolras:** I imagine her particularly violent behind the wheel of a two-ton steel death machine.

**Grantaire:** i would say ur exaggerating but thats pretty much exactly how mk views cars

* * *

They take four cars. Combeferre drives Eponine, Cosette, and Marius; Grantaire drives Enjolras, Bahorel, and Mary Kate; Musichetta takes Joly and Bossuet, and Feuilly drives Courfeyrac and Jehan. They follow one another; the drive is maybe an hour, tops, and Enjolras is stony-faced the whole drive up, reading through a stack of papers in his lap and attempting to snap at Mary Kate, who doesn't seem very interested in his anger but far more interested in the way he scowls when she pulls his hair.

They drive up in relative silence. Bahorel and Mary Kate are texting frantically about Game of Thrones, because Grantaire's still only on season one and doesn't want spoilers, and Enjolras only occasionally talks, but he's got a fire in his eyes that makes Grantaire want to melt.

Their eyes meet once and then Enjolras is looking back at the papers he's holding, but his fingers brush against Grantaire's when they both reach for their coffees in the cup holders and Enjolras lets his touch linger a bit longer than usual. Grantaire just hopes he can't hear how erratic his heart beat is.

* * *

"The death penalty is _murder_!"

Somehow this entire rally seems to have become the Enjolras show, and Combeferre's not even a little bit surprised. Eponine has her arm around his waist, her other pumped up in the air while she screams in agreement, her voice mixing with Combeferre's. Cosette and Courfeyrac are standing on either side of Enjolras, handing out flyers and answering questions, while Marius and Jehan stand with their shoulders pressed together. It's never easy to see the person you love most in the fray. Combeferre wonders how any of them can stand it. Bossuet and Musichetta are flanking Joly (and Musichetta's never looked more terrifying, her eyes ablaze and her hair down around her face and her lips parted in some kind of mesmerizing chant), and Bahorel stands behind Musichetta and Mary Kate. Grantaire's positioned himself halfway between his sister and his leader, and is looking between the two carefully. He hasn't said a word the whole time. He's keeping his eye on the police officers surrounding the crowd, making sure he's not missing a thing.

Standing in the center of this crowd, Enjolras looks glorious, too beautiful for this earth, and for a brief, shining moment Combeferre feels as though he's just ripped his own heart out to put in his best friend's hands. From the enraptured stares on the other protestors' faces, he can tell he's not the only one. Enjolras is single-minded and fierce, proud and unbroken. It's an honor to hear him speaking like this; he seems to be on fire, as if he's glowing under his skin, and for the first time Combeferre understands why Grantaire calls him Apollo.

He's a god, an avenging angel, and every last person here, even the cops, wants him to keep screaming for justice and to never stop.

"The death penalty is _prohibited_ by international law. No governing body has the right to claim our lives!" There's a shout of agreement, and Enjolras thrusts his hand up in the air, holding one of the flyers. It's one of Grantaire's designs and features the faces of the political prisoners executed since 1976 as if in a bar code. "What man-made institution has the right to _take_ our lives? They've already taken our liberty." There are more shouts and Combeferre realizes that even though he's heard Enjolras like this a thousand times, he's shouting too.

"They will tell you that to keep the peace they must enforce the law and that this must come at the cost of our freedom. Our _lives._ Every last one of us is a parent or a child. A lover. A friend. A sibling. Family. Liberty is fed not by our fear or silence and yet here we are, standing quiet and afraid. _We need to scream._ We need to be heard. We will _not_ be silenced when we watch the very veins of this institution running red with the blood of our kin, because tyranny is fed by that silence and fear and blood. Liberty comes at a great price. She is a leviathan; she must be awoken and we must steel ourselves against the fury of those who would have her sleep remain uninterrupted. Will you stand with me?" There's a great roar of agreement and Combeferre and Eponine have raised their joined hands now, screaming along with them. Mary Kate and Musichetta are the loudest voices in the crowd, discernible even over the din.

Musichetta shouts something loud enough that the crowd quiets to hear her. "We've been taught our whole lives to keep our heads down out of fear of conflict and to call it 'good manners'. We've been urged to silence anyone who would dare speak out against what's wrong. We've been afraid for too long!" Enjolras is looking at her in awe and maybe a little bit of love. "Fuck the status quo, fuck the norm, fuck the ones beating us down. Fuck the _murderers_ claiming to be protectors. Where are they when women are assaulted and battered day in, day out, for daring to walk the streets? When we're racially profiled and locked away for daring to exist? When my sisters are slaughtered for daring to live as they are and defy your preconceived notions of gender? Killed for daring to love? They don't _give a shit_ because it's easy to look the other way when it's us getting crushed. Stop _letting_ them look away!"

The protestors all scream and cheer and suddenly Combeferre sees Grantaire's eyes widen in panic as he practically dives for Mary Kate, immediately grabbing her by the arm and pulling her into his chest, covering her head. Time slows as he watches Mary Kate's eyes meet her brother's in fear, the reassuring way he shields her, because she's fierce and powerful but still young and easy to bruise if not easy to break. He takes one look at Bahorel and shoves his sister into his grasp—if it comes to a fight, Bahorel's got a better chance of winning than Grantaire ever will.

Then the police are moving towards them and Enjolras is screaming at them and Combeferre and Eponine are pushing through the crowd to get to them and Courfeyrac is sprinting for Jehan and it's something of a blur, to be quite honest, but within the hour Cosette's punched a cop in the face and bolted, Bahorel and Feuilly have safely gotten Jehan, Courfeyrac, Mary Kate, and Marius out of the fray, Bossuet's covered Joly and pressed him to a nearby wall in equal parts to shield him from blows that don't come and to keep him from running after Musichetta

who ends up on the ground, proudly glaring up at the police who have her hands zip tied behind her back, next to Combeferre and Enjolras.

* * *

**Grantaire:** mk where the fuck r u tell me ur safe

**Mary Kate:** I'm fine. At a café with most of the rest of the gang. Where are you?

**Grantaire:** who's there with u?

**Mary Kate:** Eponine, Cosette, Jehan, Courfeyrac, Marius, Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel, Feuilly.

**Grantaire:** i'm gonna find the others then come find u. send me an address.

**Grantaire:** shit i see chetta and combeferre

**Grantaire:** ferre's kinda banged up

**Grantaire:** we're on our way

* * *

When they all reach the café—which turns out to be a Starbucks, so Grantaire is momentarily glad for Enjolras' absence—Eponine instantly wraps her arms around Combeferre and kisses him so fiercely they all look away in embarrassment. His glasses are broken and abandoned somewhere—someone else will have to drive home—and he's got a bruise blooming on his cheek from when he'd gotten elbowed in the face trying to shove someone away from Musichetta, who is, shockingly, untouched.

Joly and Bossuet fall on her immediately, and she spends the next ten minutes sitting quietly while her boys kiss her and dote on her and beg her to never ever _ever_ get caught by cops again. The only mark on her is the irritation from the too-tight zip ties, which she'd learned how to escape in her freshman year of college. Mary Kate and Grantaire become something of a singular being, hugging so tightly that Grantaire's pretty sure his seventeen-year-old sister has broken one of his ribs; this suspicion practically doubles when Cosette hugs them both.

"Don't you _ever_ do that to me again," Eponine whispers, and Combeferre nods, taking her face in both hands and kissing her quite literally until she's dizzy before tucking his face into her shoulder and breathing in deeply.

"They let us go because we weren't the ones 'stirring up trouble'," Musichetta explains once everyone quiets down, "but they took Enjolras in. He's got his lawyer's number on him and it's his first offense so I mean, they'll probably let him go, but they brought him back to the station."

No one notices that Grantaire untangles himself from Mary Kate and kisses her forehead before muttering something to Cosette, who just nods and hugs him again, looking relieved.

Jehan just shrugs. "It's not like we didn't expect this, 'Chetta. It's _Enjolras_."

This warrants murmurs of agreement, and Comeferre spends the next forty seconds trying to shush everyone enough to ask, "So who's going to go get him? We should look into bailing him out or getting a lawyer up here or whatever."

Everyone pauses to look at one another. Courfeyrac and Jehan haven't moved from where they're curled up together in an armchair since arriving, and Jehan looks shaken despite his calm tone of voice. Bahorel looks ready to say something when Mary Kate says, "I think my brother's on it."

They all turn to stare at the empty space where Grantaire had been standing. For a moment they consider sending someone after him to tag along, make sure he behaves, but the glare that Cosette gives them is truly terrifying.

"Let's be realistic," she says. "Of all the things Grantaire will do, putting Enjolras at risk isn't one of them."

* * *

**Mary Kate:** Be careful, okay?

**Grantaire: **i'm not leaving him in there

**Mary Kate:** I know. Just be careful. You haven't had anything to drink today so you're not totally steady. I need you to promise me you're going to be careful.

**Grantaire:** promise

**Mary Kate:** I love you.

**Grantaire: **love you back little sis

* * *

The police station is small and dirty and looks like something out of a bad action movie. Enjolras is sitting on a bench, silent and unmoving.

And bloody.

There's the beginnings of a bruise on his cheek and eye, and there's dried blood crusted under and around his nose and mouth, and even so he manages to look dignified, a fucking Bernini sculpture sitting in a filthy police department.

His eyes widen fractionally when he sees Grantaire but he keeps his composure, even when Grantaire reaches out with hands that are shaking from anger and not from drink. He takes Enjolras' chin in his hand and tips it up until Enjolras is looking him in the eye; his other hand comes up to brush trembling fingers lightly across the bruises and the blood. For a moment, Grantaire wants to lick him clean. He looks more glorious than ever. This, Grantaire realizes, is what his Apollo was made for.

"Who touched you?" he demands in a voice so low it's almost inaudible. Enjolras shakes his head, and Grantaire simply repeats himself, slower, before asking, "Was it a cop?"

"R, let it go."

"I'll fucking kill them, I swear."

"Grantaire." Pale hands come up to curl around Grantaire's wrists before sliding up, long and graceful fingers interlocking almost fiercely with rougher ones stained with ink. They stay like this for a moment before Grantaire nods and sighs; Enjolras looks relieved, and turns to brush his nose against the fragile bones of Grantaire's wrist.

They both turn to look at the police officers, one of whom is an older man who reminds Grantaire of Dr. Lamarque, almost. He explains that since Enjolras doesn't have any priors, and wasn't violent, he's free to go; the rally had been entirely legal, even if it was starting to get out of hand, so legally, there's nothing they can do. Grantaire opens his mouth to snarl that he hadn't seen Enjolras this roughed up before the cops had arrived but Enjolras looks exhausted and squeezes Grantaire's hands, so he relents and says he'll take care of the paperwork to get Enjolras out.

How anyone can be that fucking beautiful with blood crusted under their nose is completely and utterly beyond Grantaire, but he'll ponder it later when he's not practically shaking with fury that someone dared touch him. Enjolras waits for him at the door, and the artist's hand floats protectively near the small of Enjolras' back as if to guide or support him, but really, he just wants to be closer to him and to guarantee that he's still completely whole. As soon as they're outside, Grantaire hails a cab to get to where they'd parked. Enjolras turns to the other man, completely calm, and simply watches him for a moment before speaking.

"Thank you. I'd assumed Eponine would come, but I'm glad it wasn't her."

"You don't want her seeing you in a police station?" Grantaire supplies, feeling oddly hurt, and Enjolras laughs quietly. It's a gentle sound. When he's not on the job as a part time archangel or something, he's almost approachable.

"No, I don't care about that. I'm glad it was you."

"Yeah. I'm in no position to judge anybody," Grantaire snorts humorlessly, and Enjolras just frowns.

"I really don't care about that, R. I just wanted to see you."

"You didn't have to get yourself arrested." Grantaire's joking barely feels like joking at this point, and he swallows hard, forcing himself not to notice the way Enjolras' eyes follow his Adam's apple.

He hasn't had enough to drink but he knows that Enjolras wouldn't trust him to help if he wasn't as sober as he could handle being.

"I want to know who hit you," he says after a moment, when Enjolras doesn't respond, and Enjolras scoffs.

"Who do you think? They're a fucking joke. Protectors of the people my ass. They were just waiting for me to do something more than mouth off and I wouldn't give them the satisfaction, so the new guy on the force got a little excited. Kept him distracted from Combeferre and Musichetta. Are they-"

"I'll fucking kill him. I really will. They're alright."

Grantaire's expecting some kind of rant about nonviolence as long as necessary or whatever else Enjolras has been learning during his international phone conferences with the London offices and fucking protestors and response teams that are actually in the field, but instead, the corner of Enjolras' mouth quirks up in a soft sort of smile.

"You've got to be more careful, Apollo. I know this is important to you. Just, be careful." Grantaire's voice is shaking a bit, and his fingers skate across the bruise again. Enjolras doesn't move; when Grantaire brushes his thumb across the dried blood, Enjolras actually manages to nuzzle his thumb, and Grantaire wonders if maybe he's been spending too much time with Cat.

"Has everyone started to head home yet?" he asks, ignoring Grantaire's concern, but not moving away from the fingers still on his face.

Grantaire does withdraw his hand, though, and he clears his throat. "Yeah. I think so. I told Cosette to get everyone headed back." He pauses, then asks, "Do you want to go to your place or mine? You're not going to get a second of silence at your place." He adds this last bit almost hopefully; he knows that they'll all congregate there and that Enjolras, who looks exhausted under all his glorious little smiles and laughs, won't kick them out so he can rest.

"Yours would be nice. I'd like a few minutes of quiet. I'll text Eponine and let her know that we're alright." Grantaire spares a moment to watch Enjolras pull his phone out of the pockets of his jeans, which look painted on and are frankly unfair, before looking out the window.

It's only when they arrive at the parking garage where they'd been just a few hours ago, laughing and getting excited, that it hits him.

Enjolras had wanted to see him.

The drive home is long, and Enjolras is so tired that he falls asleep, the beginning moonlight casting him in a light so silvery-white that Grantaire seriously wonders if he's looking at someone human. They arrive at Grantaire's apartment building in silence and Grantaire walks close, too close, as if to make sure that Enjolras really is alright, but today Enjolras doesn't seem to mind.

* * *

As soon as they're inside Enjolras heads to the bathroom and Grantaire makes his way to the refrigerator, pulling out a couple of beers and setting them down on the counter. He's halfway done with his first when Enjolras comes out of the bathroom, his teeth freshly brushed (Grantaire wonders whose toothbrush he used before seeing a bit of toothpaste left over on his finger) and the blood cleaned up from under his nose and mouth.

Wordlessly, Grantaire holds the second bottle out for him, and Enjolras hesitates for only a moment before taking it. They drink in silence, Grantaire practically drinking his presence in with a strange sort of hunger. "Why'd you want to see me?" he asks finally, before his courage can fail him.

Enjolras just shrugs, tipping the bottle back again and taking another sip. After a moment he answers, "I don't know. I just did. It felt kind of strange, to be honest. I kept looking over at the bench next to me expecting you to just be there." He takes a sharp breath in, then says, almost as if confessing, "I kept trying to summon up some voice of reason to keep me from provoking an officer again and yours was the only one I could really hold on to. I don't know why."

"If I'm your definitive voice of reason, you really need to get your shit together, Apollo," Grantaire snorts, and he moves to get another beer, but Enjolras is resting his hand on Grantaire's arm and watching him and so he stops moving. "What?"

"I'm not a very good friend to you," he says quietly. "I never have been. Forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive. I'd try anyone's patience."

"I haven't treated you like I should a friend and yes, there is something to forgive. I needed someone and you were there. I won't forget that."

Grantaire snorts with laughter. "I'm always there, Apollo. This is nothing new."

"I know. I always see it. I just never thank you for it, and I should."

This is promising to get long. Grantaire kind of wants to just shut him up because he knows, he just _knows_, that he's going to say something he'll regret.

But then Enjolras is smiling again and his tongue slides over his lower lip, probably without him realizing what he's doing, and the second beer is forgotten as Grantaire coughs and stares down at his hands.

This isn't fair.

He's been so _good_ about it. He's been trying to watch Enjolras less, trying to touch him less (though it's been difficult, as Enjolras is naturally incredibly tactile, and sometimes Grantaire's hands are pulled towards whatever bare skin they can find out of some sort of impossible magnetism).

"There's seriously nothing to thank me for," Grantaire insists, practically mumbling. "It's just what I do." Then, suddenly, without his permission, a few more words slip out. "I'll be doing it until I follow you to an early grave, or until you seriously don't want me around."

This surprises Enjolras. "What do you mean?"

"Forget it." Grantaire gets another beer and opens it and is about to start drinking when Enjolras' persistent hands take hold of the neck of the bottle and pull it away from him.

"I'd really rather not."

"After everything I'm willing to give you, Apollo, let me keep my dignity, won't you? There's not very much left but I'm fond of what I do have." Grantaire's cheeks are burning and his throat feels closed off; this is wrong, he was wrong, he should have shut up.

He reaches for his beer again but Enjolras just catches his hand. "Talk to me," he's urging, and Grantaire can't look at him.

He has to swallow twice before he can speak, and when he does, his eyes are burning and he feels as though he might outright cry from frustration and embarrassment and the knowledge sinking into the pit of his stomach that he's just blown it. Everything. He'll be lucky if Enjolras even looks at him again.

He's always known this would never work out but unrequited love is better when you can at least daydream about it someday coming to fruition in an alternate universe where you're not a raging alcoholic and he's not too in love with his cause to acknowledge you.

"If you really don't know, just leave it at that, Apollo, please." His voice cracks a little and Grantaire shakes his head, still keeping his eyes on everything but Enjolras. "I don't ask you for much."

And so he does.

Enjolras just shrugs and nods, clearly unhappy but accepting it, and that's almost more than Grantaire can handle and he feels like his ribcage too small to fit his organs inside and his hands are shaking again and and and

suddenly he's the one reaching out and taking Enjolras' arm, and his chest feels constricted thinking that he might walk away. _I've been in love with you since freshman year when I met you in Lamarque's class and the only reason I can think of anything good about this place is you and if I lose you now I don't know how I'll handle it but I will. I always do._

He looks at Enjolras questioningly before pulling his hand back and Enjolras just nods, as if to say do what you must, and then his fingers are tangled around soft curls the color of the last leaves in autumn and he's breathing in as deeply as he can because he knows this is probably the last time he'll ever be around Enjolras, because what kind of person would actually want him, drunk and angry and alone?

Except Enjolras' hands are curling around Grantaire's sides and he's fitting his fingers between Grantaire's ribs, pressing down as hard as he can and pulling Grantaire closer haphazardly. Grantaire moves to pull back and Enjolras follows the motion before realizing that Grantaire means to break the kiss; neither man loosens their hold on the other, and Enjolras runs a tongue across kiss-reddened lips.

He doesn't say anything, just pulls Grantaire back into him and presses close until every inch of him is aligned with Grantaire, hips matched to hips, tongues flickering against lips and teeth, and Grantaire is sure that Enjolras' hands are going to leave him with bruises but he doesn't care. This is Enjolras, body and blood, and he's standing in his kitchen kissing Grantaire so desperately that he's almost sure one of them is going to pass out if this keeps up.

Neither man tries to hide his growing erection, though they don't do anything about it; instead, Enjolras pulls away this time, breathing heavily.

"I see you," he promises, slicking his tongue out against Grantaire's lips, and it's not _I love you_, it's not_ I want you_, but it's enough.


	8. Chapter 8

wow wow WOW you're all the greatest um

please check this out on AO3 (I'm truethingsproved there as well) because I linked to some absolutely GORGEOUS art inspired by this fic and ugh I love you all thank you THANK YOU

* * *

They argue the whole drive home.

It's hard to tell who's more uncomfortable, the couple fighting or the couple watching, but all four of them are unhappy right now. The two shouting are really going at it, screaming and swearing and throwing thinly-veiled insults at one another.

"Did you _really_ think I'd be okay with you coming to this fucking thing if I knew the shit you were going to pull?"

"Oh, it's shit? Is it shit when _Enjolras_ is pulling it? Or just me?"

"I can't do a fucking thing about Enjolras' behavior but I sure as _fuck_ can try to get _you_ to see reason!"

"I'm not being unreasonable!"

"Are you sure about that? Do you even _remember_ what you did today?"

"_Yes_, you self-righteous asshole, I was fucking _there._ Unlike you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Did you come to stand up for something or just to try and babysit me?"

There's a lot of sputtering and stammering, and then, finally, "If you don't like having me trying to look after you, you don't have to put up with it." They've been at this for almost forty minutes now and they're exhausted.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Go on. End things with me. I wouldn't want to harsh your flow or _whatever_ the fuck you say."

_Seriously?_

"Fine. We're done."

They are stony and silent the rest of the drive back, and when Eponine stops in front of Marius and Combeferre's building, Combeferre reaches over to squeeze Eponine's hand gently and Marius slams the car door behind him.

"I'll call you?" Combeferre says softly, and Eponine nods, reaching over to kiss him protectively, touching two fingers to the bruise on his cheek.

"I'll bring your car back tomorrow. Take it easy tonight, please?" she requests, and he nods, kissing her again. Once he's out of the car she glances in the rearview mirror almost nervously to see if Cosette's alright and isn't surprised to see her staring silently out the window, her shoulders shaking and her face wet and shining and her knuckles rubbed raw.

Eponine turns up the radio and stares resolutely at the road, granting Cosette whatever privacy she can as the other girl simply cries, open and honest and terribly alone.

* * *

Enjolras lets Grantaire back him against the kitchen counter in a frenzy of grasping hands and greedy lips, and the tenderness of his many bruises is forgotten in favor of the searing heat of Grantaire's mouth fixed firmly against his. There are fingers tangled in hair and hips matched to hips and Enjolras kisses him almost desperately, as if he's not sure what else he could possibly do that _isn't_ kiss Grantaire.

How has it taken him this fucking long to do this? Grantaire gasps into his mouth and Enjolras swallows the sound possessively, pushing the soft cotton of Grantaire's shirt up so he can dig his fingernails into the skin of Grantaire's side. Every single too-long glance and not-so-accidental touch has been leading up to this and it's all culminating in something that almost feels like a fury and _god_ he's not touching anywhere _near_ enough of Grantaire, he wants bare skin pressed to bare skin across every inch he can reach and then some, and _Jesus Christ_ they're both gasping and panting and scrambling to move closer together and Enjolras has been with plenty of people but never like this before and—

Grantaire pulls back with a sound that's almost a whimper, breathing heavily, his hands shaking, and leans his forehead against Enjolras' and laughs, the hand in Enjolras' hair tightening and his other hand clamped around his hip like a vise. Enjolras tugs him closer, fisting his other hand in the front of Grantaire's shirt, and rolls his hips against Grantaire's, the corner of his mouth turning up in a wicked half-grin.

The sounds Grantaire is making are outright obscene and are more like whines now, and good god, he's never wanted to _climb_ someone more in his life.

He lifts his hand from Grantaire's shirt, noting with a brief grin of approval how wrinkled it is from his grip, to curl it around the back of the other man's neck, and is pulling him back in to kiss him again when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He ignores it, sweeping his tongue past Grantaire's teeth and tightening his grip when Grantaire shudders, but almost as soon as it stops vibrating it just starts up again.

"Are you gonna get that?" Grantaire breathes against his mouth and, frustrated, Enjolras fishes his phone out of his pocket and promptly drops it into the sink, not bothering to see if it falls into the day-old suds, though judging by the continued vibration it hasn't.

"No," he says, raising his eyebrows, and Grantaire lets out a nervous laugh that Enjolras cuts off in another fierce kiss.

Enjolras is focusing on a lot of things right now—the way Grantaire tastes, the way his breath hitches whenever Enjolras slides his hand across his stomach, and the hardness between his thighs pressed against his own, separated by layers of clothing—but time isn't one of them. He's not sure if they've been kissing for minutes or for years but either way he has no plans of stopping any time soon, and so when Grantaire lifts his mouth from Enjolras' the blond lets out an indignant sound of protest.

"You've got to give me a minute, Apollo," he says softly, looking at Enjolras like he's not entirely sure if what he's seeing can be trusted.

For everything the others like to say about how Enjolras is romantically and emotionally lacking he's not oblivious. He's known for a while now that Grantaire is pretty much in love with him; there's suddenly an aching in his chest as he watches the way Grantaire's eyes sweep over him with a certain sort of apprehensive wonder. He reaches up with an impossible tenderness, brushing his fingers across the gargoyle tattooed on Grantaire's forearm as he does, to curl his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I am exactly where I want to be," he promises once Grantaire's eyes meet his again, and the way Grantaire looks at him makes him feel like he's falling.

* * *

**Eponine:** Listen i know you're at r's now and this is probably something big but

**Eponine:** Marius and cosette broke up and cosette's pretty broken up about it so just

**Eponine:** Please make an effort to be nice to both of them, okay?

**Eponine: **Mary kate's over here, too, and we're having a girls' night with too much ice cream and bad horror movies

**Eponine:** Also the only excuse you have for not texting me back is if you're getting laid so congrats on the sex

* * *

Mary Kate is clinging to Cosette a bit like a baby sloth and Cosette pets her hair absently, her eyes rimmed with red and her jaw set. She is too angry to be sad and too sad to be angry and so there's a hollow numbness in her stomach.

She wants to text Grantaire but knows that Enjolras is there and someone deserves to have a good night tonight. Musichetta and Eponine are there as well, and they're watching The Covenant and emptying the fourth pint of ice cream of the night, but Cosette doesn't care. Eponine keeps glancing over at her side, probably to text Combeferre—wonderful Combeferre, kind Combeferre, Combeferre who congratulated her for punching a cop in the face when he'd gone for Marius and who'd nearly gotten arrested himself—and Cosette can't stop the bitter sting of jealousy.

Mary Kate seems to understand, and she nuzzles Cosette's neck sleepily, and even though Cosette is strong on her own and has been through hell and back and doesn't cry over boys who break her heart she's shaking again, her nose tucked in Mary Kate's hair and her tears falling too quickly for her to do anything to stop them. The other girl's arms snake around Cosette's waist and Musichetta reaches over to stroke her blonde hair back and Eponine tucks her head on Cosette's shoulder and for the first time in years she feels utterly alone while surrounded.

Cosette lets out a watery laugh when something amusing happens on screen and resumes eating her ice cream and even though Musichetta and Eponine drift back to where they'd been Mary Kate refuses to let go, and it's easy to see that she grew up with Grantaire during her formative years.

The phone on her dresser lights up and Musichetta stands to pick it up. "It's Marius," she says quietly, and Cosette shakes her head, still crying, so Musichetta sets it down again and comes back to sit on the floor next to her.

They all fall asleep like that, surrounded by blankets and pillows and with Mary Kate's hand tight in Cosette's, and Cosette can't sleep for hours because she's crying too much. Mary Kate simply holds her tighter.

* * *

**Enjolras:** Wait a second, how the fuck did Marius and Cosette break up? I left you guys alone for like, twelve hours, and the world went to shit. Did the mouth of Hell open up too?

**Eponine:** Idek. She's been crying most of the night and mary kate's a fucking godsend. How are you doing?

**Enjolras:** I'm great, actually.

**Eponine:** Did what i think happened happen?

**Enjolras:** Yes.

**Eponine:** Are you happy?

**Enjolras:** It's four in the morning and one of my arms is numb because he's fallen asleep on it. He's said my name in his sleep twice and every time he wakes up he looks at me like he can't believe I'm here.

**Enjolras:** So yes.

**Enjolras:** I'm happy.

* * *

Marius is asleep on the couch because he's refused to go into his room, not while Cosette's things are still in there, and Combeferre has no idea what to do.

He's not good at helping people through breakups because a) they are entirely illogical, b) he doesn't date enough to have much breakup knowledge, and c) this is Marius and even if he knew exactly what to do he'd still need a real-people-to-Marius dictionary.

But he still hates seeing Marius like this. Marius won't even cry. If he was crying this would be easier. Crying people are easy. You pat them awkwardly on the back and let them make a mess of your shirt and then make them tea and mutter "there, there," which is an entirely nonsensical phrase, and then whisper promises of a better tomorrow. It's easy to forget that Marius has been through plenty on his own; his family's disowned him because of his involvement with Enjolras and his group—Enjolras had been shockingly proud of him when he'd heard, proud and honored and humbled. It is the only time in Combeferre's memory that Enjolras has ever been struck speechless.

When you piss off enough politicians and your parents are involved in politics people tend to notice and ask some frankly invasive questions and if it comes down to you or their careers your parents are going to pick their careers.

Comebeferre sits awkwardly on the arm of the couch, waiting, and sure enough there's a knock on the door before the clock hits nine. Enjolras is standing outside, and he comes into the apartment without a word, just a nod to Combeferre, before kneeling in front of the couch and looking at Marius.

Marius just clears his throat and shakes his head and Enjolras clasps his hand so tightly in both of his that his fingers are mottled red and white. They don't say a word.

* * *

**Combeferre: **Enjolras is here. How's Cosette?

**Eponine: **Furious. But mostly sad. how are YOU?

**Combeferre:** Sore, but fine, and endlessly pleased you dragged me out to kiss on a bridge at two in the morning.

**Combeferre:** She's lucky to have you. So am I.

**Eponine:** Can i come over later?

**Combeferre:** How about I take you out to lunch and we spend the entire time kissing in my car instead?

**Eponine:** See you in an hour.

* * *

They would do this for longer, except Marius is impatient.

If they're not getting back together, if she really meant it, he wants to know and he wants to know _now_ so he can know to leave her be, and so he pounds on her dorm door until she opens it, looking exhausted and almost nervous. He's spent the day with Enjolras just sitting with him, and he feels far braver than he normally would; he knows she's been with Grantaire and Mary Kate from the smell of beer and pot hanging on her clothes, but she hasn't had enough to drink or smoke to make her look less alone.

He's never seen her this small, this tired, and he really wants to reach forward and kiss her until she's smiling again, but she looks about to flinch if he makes any sudden movements.

"Can I come in?" he asks, and Cosette just steps back, giving him space.

He rehearsed this on the way—he even made _Enjolras_ listen to him—but he's still terrified because this is _Cosette._ No one has ever mattered to him this much. And yes, it's really only been a couple of months, but still.

They stand there awkwardly, silent and uncomfortable, and she keeps glancing at him curiously before flushing and looking away. He can't think of what he was going to say and so instead he chokes out, "You punched a cop, Cosette."

Suddenly the loneliness flies from her face, only to be replaced by anger. "Yes, I'm well aware," she says dryly. "I was there for that. You're welcome."

"I'm supposed to be _grateful_ that you put yourself at risk?" She opens her mouth to argue and he shakes his head. "Listen. I know I'm not like you guys. You're passionate and angry and I'm just idealistic; I don't have anything useful to contribute to the group and the greatest thing I ever did was meet you. The majority of you tolerate me at best. And honestly I don't mind it from them but you are the best part of my life and the only part of my life that really counts in the long run and do you have any idea how terrifying that was? I was so sure you were going to get hurt, or arrested, and yes, it's your life. I'm not going to argue that. I'm going to ask you to let me in."

Cosette is so shocked by this that she actually falls silent and Marius just keeps going, getting steadily more agitated.

"And I'm not mad at you for doing what you believe in and fighting for something. I'm actually really embarrassingly proud of you because you're far braver than I could ever be but I'm not made like Jehan and Grantaire. I can't see you in danger and not be terrified and angry when you might get hurt. I don't have very many people left, Cosette, and I don't want to lose you. I was angry and I didn't mean it and if I could take it back I would, and _shit,_ I had a whole thing planned…" Marius stops himself from rambling and just sighs, steepling his fingers and shaking his head.

After a moment, Cosette speaks, slowly. "I can't change how I am, Marius."

"I don't want you to."

"I'm always going to be reckless and I'm never going to think everything through."

"I know."

"I need you to be okay with that."

Marius' lower lip is trembling dangerously and he shakes his head, shrugging. "I don't know that I can."

She lets out a quivering laugh, looking at her ceiling, and he's so miserable being so close to her and seeing her this upset and not being able to do anything about it.

"Where do we go from here?" she asks quietly, and her voice cracks, and Marius crosses his arms over his chest tightly to keep himself from grabbing her and pulling her towards him and just holding her until everything's right again.

His "I don't know" is soft, and she looks like she's about to start crying again, and he says, very softly, "But you're worth losing my shit over, so if you want time to figure out if you want me around, we can do that, but I just… I know you're not supposed to say this when you haven't been together that long but I love you, Cosette, in that really humiliating romantic comedy sense where I'd stand outside your window throwing pebbles until you came out. I mean, I—"

Cosette holds a hand up to stop him.

"You what?"

"I love you." And he looks almost apologetic at that, like he doesn't want to have to pile more pressure onto her. He pushes off the wall he's leaning on and turns for the door but she's catching his hand and kissing him and laughing breathlessly and kissing him again. And again. And again. He's thoroughly baffled now but he goes along with it, making a mental note to congratulate Enjolras on getting a boyfriend because women are confusing as hell.

Then he remembers that Enjolras' boyfriend is Grantaire and that Grantaire makes even less sense than women and scratches that mental note out.

Cosette sighs into his mouth and snakes her arms around his neck. "I don't want us to be over," she confesses. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said that."

He rests one hand on the small of her back and the other around the back of her skull and breathes in.

"And I want us to work this out more than anything because I love you, too, and I want you to be the one shouting at me for punching cops for the rest of my life, and I want to be the one infuriating you."

It's a strange little declaration of love but it works.

"And you have a point," she continues, nuzzling under his ear. "And we'll find some compromise but I don't want us over and I don't think you do either and I love you so much I can't come up with a good analogy."

Since words aren't quite working he just kisses her again and hopes it gets the message across.

It does.


	9. Chapter 9

Wow okay so you're all great? Anywho, definitely check this out on AO3-there's a HUGE list of graphics and the like, and even-how awesome is this-PODFIC.

You're all delightful and amazing and wonderful and I love you to bits. c:

* * *

It's an absolutely beautiful day.

The lace curtains Musichetta picked out ages and ages ago, which have long since been stained (with paint, from the time Feuilly and Grantaire painted the apartment and got the pale green on the carpet as well; with wine, from the time they celebrated their anniversary in bed and knocked an entire bottle over; with streaks of dye from when Bossuet accidentally washed them with one of Musichetta's scarves, the one where the colors tended to bleed) are open, and sunlight pours in. Joly looks at them fondly, one asleep on either side of him, and cards his fingers through Musichetta's hair. On his other side, Bossuet nestles closer to him, nuzzling his jaw in his sleep. The apartment smells of fresh coffee—the timer on the coffee maker must be working for once. The others will be waking up soon: Chetta will wake first, her hair splayed out on the pillow behind her, both eyes opening, peering up at him through her eyelashes and her lips curling up in a soft and sleepy smile. Bossuet will wake next, opening one eye first, then both, and he'll grin and show all his teeth.

It will be a perfect morning and they'll all brush their teeth and climb into their giant bathtub together, unless they go back to bed, and they'll spend their day wrapped up around each other in a beautiful tangle of limbs.

This is how Joly knows that the day is going to be ruined.

He doesn't know for sure but he has a very strong inkling that it will, and Joly's hunches tend to be right more often than the others want to admit.

Sure enough, Musichetta wakes first, and she's a goddamn vision even when she's only just waking up. She yawns adorably before pressing kiss after kiss to Joly's bare shoulder.

"Good morning, my love," she practically purrs, her voice still low and husky from sleep, and this wakes Bossuet, who grins and slides a hand across Joly's chest before leaning over to kiss Musichetta lightly in greeting. Their hands are starting to wander, and Joly's premonition of a ruined day is almost completely forgotten as he tips his head back to bare his throat for Bossuet's wandering lips, when there's an almost vicious pounding on the door.

All three sit up in bed, and after a furious game of rock-paper-scissors Musichetta sighs and shoves at Joly's shoulder before sliding out of bed to open the door. She's wearing nothing but an old tee shirt and a pair of Bossuet's boxers, and for a moment Joly contemplates grabbing her hand and tugging her back to bed, whoever is at the door be damned, but he sighs and flops back on the pillow, listening closely. Bossuet follows suit.

There's a creak of a door opening, then Musichetta is saying hello in a voice that makes Joly groan, because clearly, their visitor is going to be staying for a while (as evidenced by Musichetta's cheerful invitation to come in), and then Enjolras' familiar voice is floating through the apartment.

"It's noon," he's saying, though he does sound mildly amused, if a bit exasperated, and Musichetta's laugh fills the halls.

"Your bruises are healing," she tells him before popping her head into the bedroom. "Alright, boys, I'm kicking you out. Enjolras and I are going to have hot revolutionary sex and you're not invited."

From the kitchen, Enjolras shouts back, dryly, "Ooh baby, ooh baby, say something about liberty."

Joly lets out an indignant noise that makes Bossuet snicker as he trips out of bed. "Baby, you're good, but how exactly do you plan on stealing him away from his cynic?" he asks, and Musichetta snorts.

"I'm going to draw him a diagram of Louis XVI's execution. Now get out. We're having serious discussions. Go get lunch at that pub you like and then I'll meet you there, okay?"

They grumble good-naturedly and brush their teeth and get dressed and within fifteen minutes they're out the door, Bossuet pausing to make agitated faces at Enjolras (who sits comfortably on the antique couch he'd found them and then carried over with Combeferre and Jehan, though Jehan somehow ended up on the couch while Enjolras and Combeferre did the carrying) before closing the door behind him.

Musichetta comes back out in a pair of jeans and a tank top despite the crisp air and sits across from Enjolras, tucking her legs under her.

"What's going on, sweetheart?" she asks, picking up the massive mug of tea she'd made for herself, and Enjolras sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"It's about Grantaire."

* * *

"I'm _cold._"

"I know."

"I'm _cold_ and it's a Saturday and I wanted to spend today in _bed_."

"I know, babe." Bossuet leans over to press a kiss to Joly's cheek before nearly falling off his barstool. He's got a beer in front of him and a massive sandwich on the way; Joly ordered a salad and a hot tea and is sipping at it almost delicately.

They almost don't recognize Grantaire when he walks in, Enjolras' scarf wrapped around his neck and a beanie jammed over his mess of curls. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket and he's carefully avoiding meeting anyone's gaze—so, naturally, Joly immediately stands and shouts, "Grantaire!"

The artist winces and pauses, as if he's contemplating pretending he hasn't heard or doesn't know them, before sliding onto the stool next to Bossuet and leaning forward until he's resting his forehead against the bar.

"Enjolras?" Bossuet guesses, taking a swig of his beer before offering it to Grantaire, who picks it up and brings it to his lips, tipping his head back to drink the whole thing in one go.

"Enjolras," he confirms, setting the now empty bottle down in front of him.

* * *

"Honestly, it's perfect."

Enjolras looks almost terrified to be admitting this; he picks nervously at his sleeves, and Musichetta recognizes almost immediately that Enjolras is wearing one of Grantaire's shirts. She wonders if he's noticed and decides not to mention anything just in case.

He glances up at her and bites his lip. "That sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? I'm worried because it's perfect."

"No, actually, it makes perfect sense." Musichetta takes another sip from her mug before setting it down. "Functioning relationships are fucking terrifying."

He laughs at that, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "It's just—I'm afraid we're not the same people we were when this started. We've been together about two weeks and the sex is unbelievable and we don't argue and I feel like that's _wrong._"

He must be more upset than he's letting on, if he's actually talking without Musichetta having to pry it out of him, and she lets out a sympathetic hum before reaching forward to take his hand in both of hers. He rubs his thumb absently across the tattoos on her knuckles—the letters of the spaces in the bass and treble clefs—before sighing.

"I fucked up," he says, very quietly, and Musichetta pushes off the couch to go sit next to him. "I'd talk to Eponine but she and Combeferre are getting along so well and they haven't fought once and she's constantly taking care of me. I don't want to exhaust her. I'm sorry to have to bother you with this."

"You're not a bother at all, sweetheart, just tell me what's up."

Enjolras pauses and looks down at his sleeves again. "It was so small, you know?"

* * *

"It was so small, you know?"

Grantaire is on his second beer and he stares glumly at his hands in their fingerless gloves—a gift from Enjolras this past Christmas ("If you insist on sitting outside for that many hours drawing at least keep yourself protected from frostbite a little bit, won't you?"). He and Enjolras had gone on an impromptu road trip to Seattle the week before to take care of something with Mary Kate; Grantaire hasn't offered details yet, and all Enjolras will say is that there were "family issues" and that he went as backup, but it's fairly clear to everyone around them that they're fairly serious about one another.

It doesn't make much sense, then, that they're arguing about things now, but maybe it does, and maybe they're simply not working out the way they thought they would. The very idea makes Joly's chest hurt, and he spares a moment's thought to the idea that he might be having a heart attack, but he knows he isn't.

"He made some offhand comment about how he's used my toothbrush more than his own in the past few days and I said that he might as well just get a toothbrush to leave at my place, since he spends so much of his time there anyway. He got really quiet and I… got… mad. Because he's been fucking me for two weeks and I don't know, I think I just wanted the acknowledgment that I'm not just some fuck."

Bossuet frowns and slings an arm around Grantaire's shoulder, pulling him into his side in a one-armed hug, and Grantaire grunts and finishes the second bottle of beer. "He didn't take it well?"

"He said he thought it was a bit early to be talking about moving things into each other's apartments and I told him it's just a spare fucking toothbrush, and it shouldn't be that big a deal, but he was being so weird about it so I told him to forget it and I might have been an asshole about it."

"Might have been?" Joly asks, raising his eyebrows, and Grantaire sighs.

"I told him that if he was so insistent on acting like I'm his dirty mistress then we probably shouldn't have told anyone about us, and he seemed really shocked and went, 'You told people?'" Grantaire's impression of Enjolras is high-pitched and shrill and not very flattering, and Bossuet does fall off his stool this time. "I mean, of fucking _course_ I told people. I've only been in love with him since I met him, you know? So I told Mary Kate, which, duh, she's my sister, and she told Musichetta and Cosette—apparently Eponine already knew, so it wasn't just me—and Cosette told Marius, and I mean, Courf fucking _lives_ with me, and he's walked in and found Enjolras in my bed, so it's hardly a fucking state secret, so he told Jehan, and Eponine probably told Combeferre, and Chetta told you guys, and I'm pretty sure that Bahorel and my sister are secretly in league with each other because he and Feuilly know, too."

"So, everyone?"

"Everyone," Grantaire confirms, nodding. "Montparnasse knows, even. Courf probably told him and then did his 'my roommate finally got laid' dance."

Bossuet looks as though he wants to ask if Courfeyrac actually has a dance like this, but decides that he really doesn't want to know the answer.

"And I mean, all over a fucking toothbrush."

* * *

"And all of this was over a goddamn toothbrush."

"You were a dick," Musichetta responds instantly. "If it's any help, so was he, but he's not sitting on my favorite couch right now so I can't say that to him."

"It's your only couch, Chetta."

"I know, and there's no couch better," she says sweetly before leaning over and licking his cheek; Enjolras snickers, rolling his eyes.

Musichetta has a habit of making people feel _good._ Eponine is good at solving problems, and Cosette is good at making people laugh, but Musichetta makes you want to solve things. It's not hard to see how in love with her Joly and Bossuet are; it's not hard to see how lucky they are, either.

His phone vibrates, and he practically jumps out of his skin, fishing it out of his pocket with a look akin to horror on his face, though he visibly relaxes and deflates all at once; it's a text from Eponine saying that she's caught up on this week's Elementary and he's going to love the episode.

"You're expecting a call?" Musichetta guesses, and he pauses, then nods.

"I'm supposed to hear back about my internship today. Well, I was supposed to yesterday. Which is probably why I'm so stressed out." Enjolras sighs, running a hand through his hair again, before turning to Musichetta. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, only to speak in a rush of words when she nods encouragingly. "I just wanted Grantaire to be there when I got the call, you know?"

"Why?"

"I want him to be the first person I tell," he says softly, and Musichetta grins and takes his hand again, pressing a sweet, sisterly kiss to his fingers.

"I think you should tell him that."

"He thinks I don't want people knowing about us."

"Yeah, you did phrase that like a grade-a douchecanoe."

"I was startled! I'd thought he wanted to do this quietly, you know?"

Musichetta frowns. "What makes you think that?"

With a shrug, Enjolras pinches the bridge of his nose briefly before answering. "You know him as well as I do. He doesn't keep quiet about things. But he's been careful not to kiss me when we're in public, and he seems genuinely _shocked_ if I so much as touch him. I started playing with his hair the other day at the café, entirely out of habit and because I needed something to do with my hands, and it looked like he was going to break my hand."

There are a lot of appropriate responses to this and bursting out laughing probably isn't one of them, but that's exactly what Musichetta does. She actually howls with laughter, before taking Enjolras' phone from his hands.

"What are you doing?" he asks, looking almost alarmed, because Musichetta is laughing so hard now that she's doubled over and is wheezing.

"Calling everyone I know because this is funnier than that time Mary Kate locked you in the bathroom with Cat."

"Will you please explain this to me before I go get your boyfriends to explain it to me?"

"You know they'll laugh harder," she gasps, and Enjolras stands, looking annoyed, so she tugs on his hand until he sits down again. "Sweetheart. You realize he's in love with you, right?"

Enjolras rolls his eyes and deadpans, "Contrary to popular belief, I _am_ aware of my surroundings."

"He thought that's what you wanted, baby. He was waiting for you to be the one to spill the beans to us, but you _didn't_, so he assumed that's how you wanted it. And it's not like he's really got many limits when it comes to you, so…"

Enjolras' expression is twisting into something unreadable, though the look in his eyes is infinitely sadder than she'd ever have guessed. He seems about to say something but his phone vibrates again; when he looks at the caller ID, his eyes widen, and he stands, stepping out of the living room to take the call.

When he comes back there's a fierce sort of determination in his eyes, and he swoops down to kiss her cheek before picking up his coat from where he'd left it on the couch. "I've got to go. Thanks for everything."

"Any time, baby," she says, and he opens the door and practically breaks into a run.

* * *

"Men suck," Grantaire mumbles, and Bossuet pats his shoulder comfortingly before shaking his head at the bartender, who makes to bring him a fourth beer. He's already smoked through half a pack of cigarettes and he looks miserable.

They'd texted Cosette and Eponine ten minutes ago, and Joly keeps looking at his phone nervously as if expecting them to respond that they can handle this on their own, except that Cosette comes barreling into the bar with a strangled noise coming from the back of her throat. She practically throws herself at Grantaire, who just barely manages to sit up in time to catch her and hoist her into his lap, where she throws her arms around his neck and plants sloppy kiss after sloppy kiss to his cheek.

"Smile," she orders, and when he sticks his tongue out at her she scowls. "I am a Khaleesi of the Dothraki and if you don't smile I'm going to have my dragons set you on fire."

"Threats of third-degree burns don't make me feel better, Cosette."

"That's Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, to you, commoner."

"I'm going to find whoever got you into Game of Thrones and punch them in the face."

"Good luck punching Bahorel," she snorts, and Grantaire pales a little.

"Maybe I'll just deliver a strongly-worded letter."

Eponine and Gavroche come in next, and Cosette slides off of his lap and moves so that Gavroche can sit next to him as Eponine musses his hair. They're all expecting Gavroche to say or do something sweet, but then they remember that he's Gavroche.

He reaches up to slap Grantaire lightly across the back of the head.

"Quit whining and get me a burger," he says, and Grantaire snorts. "Dating sucks but if you were loser enough to do it you've got to deal with it, and I'm hungry."

Within half an hour the rest of Les Amis have arrived and they've taken up the entire bar, drinking and laughing and stealing Gavroche's fries. Cosette and Eponine are engaged in a discussion on the problematic representation of Daenerys' and Drogo's relationship and comparing it to how it was presented in the books; Combeferre and Bahorel and Feuilly are discussing the recent plagiarism scandal surrounding one of the professors in the geology department; Jehan and Courfeyrac are sharing a milkshake and a barstool and Courfeyrac braids Jehan's hair while Jehan argues enthusiastically with Grantaire about whether or not it's feasible to actually chronicle the entire history of bookbinding in anything less than six volumes (Grantaire is doing a research paper on scriptoria in early English monasteries, specifically on the illumination of sacred manuscripts). When Musichetta arrives, she kisses her boys before sitting next to Joly and snatching his beer to steal a sip.

"Is Enjolras here yet?" she asks quietly, and Joly frowns, shaking his head.

"Did he tell you what happened?" Bossuet asks, and Musichetta nods.

"He'll be here," she says, looking worried nonetheless.

It's another twelve minutes before a familiar blond head pokes into the bar. Enjolras catches sight of Grantaire and his previously passive expression becomes unreadable; he's got a plastic bag from the local pharmacy in one hand, and the other is curled around the doorknob.

"Close the fucking door, it's cold," Cosette shouts without looking away from Eponine; Marius looks up, though, and flashes Enjolras a small but supportive smile from where he's standing behind Cosette, trailing kisses along the side of her neck.

Everyone looks up when the door slams, and Grantaire freezes when he sees that it's Enjolras. He looks torn between apologizing and simply staring back at him, defiant; Enjolras doesn't move for a minute, and then he's striding over to Grantaire, walking with a purpose.

One second Enjolras is walking closer and the next he's grabbing hold of his scarf, still wrapped around Grantaire's neck, and tugging him closer before kissing Grantaire almost fiercely.

The entire bar falls silent except for the slightly surprised sounds being muffled by Enjolras' mouth fixed firmly over Grantaire's. The artist's hands come floating up to curl around Enjolras' waist over his pea coat, and Enjolras just kisses him harder, his hand wrapped in the scarf. After about a minute, Enjolras pulls away, beaming, and brushes his nose across Grantaire's cheekbone.

"I got the internship," he says, so low only Grantaire can hear, and despite his earlier anger Grantaire's lips curl up in a smile, though his "congratulations" is cut short by Enjolras tugging the scarf again until Grantaire falls forward into Enjolras and they're kissing again.

Then Enjolras is pressing the bag against Grantaire's chest; Grantaire takes it with a frown and peers in, laughing out loud before withdrawing a cheap blue toothbrush still in its wrapping, the receipt wrapped around it. This time, he's the one to lean forward and kiss Enjolras, who responds enthusiastically. When the kissing gets a bit indecent for being in public, Musichetta clears her throat, grinning, and Enjolras pulls back, though he looks reluctant to do so.

"I got the internship," he announces, lacing the fingers of his free hand into Grantaire's. Grantaire is still holding on to the toothbrush as if for dear life, and Enjolras tugs him off the bar stool as the rest of their friends crow with happiness at the news, cheering loudly. A few people clap. Enjolras smiles and nods at them, though a second later he's headed back out the door, tugging Grantaire behind him.

"Where are you going?" Eponine calls, and Enjolras glances over his shoulder with a wicked smile.

"To celebrate," he answers, and he sounds almost innocent. For his part, Grantaire looks almost deliriously happy, especially when Enjolras pulls him in to kiss him again right there on the sidewalk, still in front of the huge glass front of the bar, his hands knotted in the scarf again.

Musichetta reaches over to muss Joly's hair before scratching her fingernails lightly along the base of Bossuet's skull. "What do you say we go make up for the morning lost to couple's counseling?"

It's hard to tell who leaves there faster, Enjolras and Grantaire, or Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta.


	10. Chapter 10

WOW you're all so great. Anyway, as per usual, check this out on AO3 so you can see the list of really AMAZING stuff that people have made for this series. c: thanks for being spectacular!

* * *

Thursdays are quickly becoming Eponine's favorite day of the week.

She starts the morning out with Cosette, grabbing breakfast in the dining hall together and listening fondly as Cosette starts in on a rant about the presentation of female characters in television (her favorite topic, right now, is Daenerys Targaryen in the books versus the show). She goes to classes, grabs lunch with Enjolras—because he is her best friend and has been practically his entire life, they end up sharing their plates and interrupting one another and everyone mistakes them for a couple. She goes to her one afternoon class, gets some homework done in the library, goes to the AI meeting, and then she and Combeferre have dinner together. No matter how many times they insist that they're going to go back to their own place after dinner it never happens and she almost always ends up in his apartment, her limbs tangled around his, his lips trailing almost reverently along her throat. She sleeps well when they share a bed. She's not sure why.

Tonight is no different, though, except that tonight, while they're still chest to heaving chest, his forehead tucked in the curve of her neck and his hands clenching his sheets so tightly she worries that he'll tear them, and one hand in his hair, the other wrapped around his arm, he says something entirely different.

Something that sounds a lot like _I love you._

Eponine freezes underneath him and shakes her head. "You can't say that," she says, and her voice is higher than normal, tight, strained, afraid.

With all the patience and care she normally adores, Combeferre presses a kiss to the corner of her jaw before propping himself up on his elbows. "Are you alright?"

"You can't say that," she repeats, and he nods. He looks hurt, but he, thankfully, doesn't make it about him.

"Are you alright?" he asks again, and she sits up; he sits as well, giving her whatever space he can without actually getting out of his bed (which, Eponine supposes, is reasonable, because it _is_ his bed).

She gets dressed in silence, keeping her eyes averted while he disposes of the condom and pulls his boxers and jeans on. She'd leave without another word, except that he reaches out, gentle as ever, to hook his fingers around hers.

"Please tell me what's wrong," he requests softly, and Eponine just shakes her head again.

_People only love me when they're trying to fix me and just because I'm fucked up doesn't mean I want fixing._

_You don't have to go through the motions with me and you should know that by now._

By far the most terrifying prospect is that he means it, unselfishly, with no desire to cure anything about her.

"What did you say?"

He doesn't pretend he doesn't know what she's talking about; instead, he runs a hand through his hair and shrugs. "I love you."

And this, this is too much, so she kisses him as hard as she can before shaking her head and saying. "You can't say that to me," before walking out of his apartment.

Because he is Combeferre and he is good in a way she sometimes can't understand, he doesn't follow, but he does watch her walk to her car from his bedroom window.

* * *

**Eponine:** Combeferre just told me he loves me.

**Enjolras:** I'll have R go over yours and stay with Cosette tonight. See you in ten?

**Eponine:** I'll get the tequila.

* * *

There are some things about Enjolras that make him the ideal best friend. That Eponine can simply climb into bed next to him, thrust a bottle of tequila into his hands, and sniffle without him becoming too alarmed is one of them.

Grantaire is gone, marathoning season three of Supernatural with Cosette, apparently, and so Enjolras just folds his arms around her and strokes her hair back without preamble. They lay in silence, the tequila waiting on his bedside table, and after about ten minutes Eponine lets out a long, shuddering sigh.

"Am I being ridiculous?" she asks, and Enjolras shakes his head.

"This is a Big Deal," he says, and she can hear the unnecessary capitalization in his voice. It makes her giggle a little bit, and he tightens his arms around her, smiling into her hair. It's just like high school and middle school and elementary school and everything in between. No matter what relationships they get into with who, they'll always have each other to come whining to, and that's what really counts. "Do you want to talk about it?"

They untangle their arms from around each other and sit up, Enjolras opening the tequila and holding it out for her first.

"The way I see it, there are three options," Eponine says before taking a drink; she winces, because she really hates tequila, but this is their Thing, so she doesn't question it. "Option one: he's trying to 'love' me into being less weird and fucked up."

Enjolras takes the tequila and frowns. "Which isn't the case, because he's Combeferre and I don't think it would actually occur to him to lie about that."

"Right. Option two: he's saying it because he thinks he should."

"Which also isn't the case, because he's Combeferre."

"Option three is that he means it."

Enjolras shoots her a sympathetic look and if they were bothering to drink out of glasses like mature adults he would tap his against hers; instead, he takes a drink himself before handing her the bottle again.

"You're royally fucked," he says after a moment, and it's not funny, not even a little bit, except now they're giggling and they can't quite stop.

* * *

For his part, Combeferre doesn't call (though he does send her a quick text the next morning wishing her a good day), and Eponine's almost terrified, because they have a date planned for that night and if she cancels, he'll know it was because he said that, and she's fairly certain she's already fucked _something_ up.

It's not that she doesn't want him to love her. It's not that at all. Honestly, she smiles every time she thinks of it, even if she does wince a couple seconds later.

It's that she feels like a fraud.

Eponine's parents are criminals, which honestly didn't bother her too much as she was growing up (maybe because she'd had Enjolras, maybe because she'd practically lived with him, maybe because she was too concerned with making sure Gavroche and Azelma were okay to bother with whether or not she was). She's spent a good portion of her life toeing the law—part of why she wants to go into social work is because, in her experience, social workers are fucking useless and she wants kids like her to at least have a shot.

The thing is, though, that she's done plenty of fucked-up shit for anyone, but especially for someone Combeferre seems to think he's in love with. She's stolen (on occasion, she still does steal, almost without realizing what she's doing until Enjolras curls his fingers around her wrist lightly). She's good at breaking and entering, and she's beaten the hell out of people before without a second's thought, so really, she's not that much of a Good Person.

And she's okay with that. People do what they have to do in order to survive and she's no exception; she has no apology to offer to anyone who wants to see her changed somehow because she doesn't fit into their narrow view of right versus wrong. Things aren't black and white.

Part of why she liked Marius (likes Marius?) is that Marius gets it. They met during their senior year of high school and he's seen her at her worst, seen her when even she wouldn't want to see herself, without Enjolras there to help her find that balance that's always so difficult to strike. He understands, to some extent, only being valued by parents as a thing to further what they want—Grantaire gets it, too, and she and Grantaire will forever understand each other on a fundamental level the others will never get for having to parent their siblings because their parents couldn't bother.

Eponine doesn't understand the idea of receiving love from someone she doesn't have to take care of to some extent. Gavroche and Azelma need a mother who isn't there—so she steps in. And Enjolras, her best friend, her balance, never really thinks, always lands himself in some sort of trouble.

Combeferre doesn't do that.

He doesn't need someone to look after him and keep him in line.

Honestly, she's not sure what, exactly, Combeferre's getting out of all of this.

Maybe that's what worries her the most. That the one thing that she feels like should be easiest for her to give isn't something she even knows she has.

* * *

**Cosette:** so explain to me why Bela got killed at the end of season three.

**Eponine:** I KNOW RIGHT

**Cosette:** actually explain to me why I let you get me into this show

**Eponine:** are you shitting me right now after you got me into game of thrones you have nothing to complain about

**Cosette:** EIGHT SEASONS OF SUPERNATURAL

**Eponine:** RED WEDDING

* * *

For some reason when Eponine gets to the Musain to grab coffee before class Combeferre is sitting across from Gavroche.

It's an afternoon class, so he's not skipping school (which is good, at least), but if he's going to be here with anyone she'd expect him to be there with Grantaire, whom he practically worships. Instead, her little brother is sitting at a table with her boyfriend.

This could either go really well or be terribly awkward and so Eponine does the most adult thing she can imagine—she pulls her hood up before either of them can see and recognize her and promptly takes a seat just far enough that she likely won't be seen, but still close enough to hear.

Combeferre is helping him with his homework (is he for real? Does he walk little old ladies to their cars in parking lots, too?) and explaining something to do with biology when Gavroche cuts him off with, "You're dating my sister, right?"

There's not even a pause. "Yeah, I am." Then, as if he was talking to another adult and not a fourteen-year-old with a smart mouth who liked to play at being entirely grown up, "Why do you ask?"

No 'kid', no 'squirt', none of the affectionate but somewhat patronizing nicknames the others use for him. Eponine can just imagine Gavroche swelling with pride, because she knows he's noticed, but he keeps talking.

"You're just not like the guys she usually dates, that's all."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Depends."

Eponine has to press her fingers to her lips to keep from snorting with laughter, because that's just so very like her little brother, but Combeferre seems to be taking this as seriously as he would any of Enjolras' talks, or Cosette's discussions, or Grantaire's rants.

He takes this as seriously as he would any conversation with any adult and Eponine feels a surge of warmth in her chest when she realizes this.

"On what? Do you mind telling me, or should I be figuring out on my own?"

Gavroche lets out a bemused sound that seems to hint at approval. "You're a good guy."

"Thanks."

"If you hurt her I'll gut you."

Eponine sets her coffee down and bows her head, trying to keep her shoulders from shaking with her silent snickering.

"Shake on it," Combeferre insists, and Eponine stops laughing, because here he is, encouraging her little brother to vivisect him should he hurt her—and they both know Gavroche can and probably will.

She wants to look over her shoulder and see if they do shake on it, but she refrains, waiting for someone to talk again. "We don't need charity, you know," Gavroche is saying, and he sounds so bitter, so angry, that it leaves Eponine reeling because she's been that angry since she knew what anger was. "We don't need anybody coming in and trying to save us, alright?"

"Alright," Combeferre agrees, and the conversation segues back to biology.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, startling her back to reality, and she leaves as quickly and discreetly as she can, hoping to avoid notice.

* * *

**Gavroche:** I saw you

**Eponine:** What are you talking about?

**Gavroche:** Come on sis when was the last time anybody was able to pull one over on me

**Gavroche:** Anyway I like him

**Gavroche:** For what it's worth

**Eponine:** It's worth a lot, kiddo.

* * *

Combeferre picks her up at her dorm for their date and compliments her blazer and kisses her as if nothing's happened. She's relieved, but also not; he doesn't push her, he never does, and as much as she appreciates that she's nervous that he's just going to hold this in until it bottles over and is beyond fixing.

But the way he curls his hands around her hips and smiles against her mouth means that Eponine is having a very hard time imagining that he could be upset with her and not say something when he is honest, so honest, and she can taste when he lies through his kisses.

His lips and teeth fix over a spot on her shoulder that she likes best, that he has to tug her blazer to get to, and she has to force herself not to tangle her fingers in his hair because it takes forever to flatten it out when one of them messes with it, no matter how soft and perfect it is between her fingers. Once he's left a mark that the blazer, thankfully, covers, he lifts his head to press another quick kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"We should probably get going," he mutters, and the _before we end up fucking in the back seat of my car_ is unspoken but most definitely implied.

The best parking they can find is a few blocks away, which is fine, really, because Eponine doesn't mind walking in heels, and also because she and Combeferre keep trying hard not to do anything more than hold hands, until finally she loses her patience and pulls him after her into a bookstore. It's small and quiet, but also cluttered with filled shelves; there's just enough to get lost in, and she tugs him to the most secluded spot she can find to pick up where they'd had to leave off outside the car.

His hands are everywhere: her sides, her hips, her hair, the back of her neck. His breathing is ragged and uneven and she takes a moment to congratulate herself silently because Combeferre doesn't get like this, especially not in public (and fooling around in public is hardly a new thing for them). They're going to miss their reservation and she honestly could not care less if she made an effort to do so; things are normal, things are fine, things are—

With a reluctant groan he pulls away from the frenzied kissing and laces his fingers into hers. "Come on," he murmurs, leaning forward to bite lightly at her lip when she scowls. In response she presses her hips to his hard enough to pin them to the bookshelves; she grinds down against him tortuously slowly and can't hid the self-satisfied smirk spreading across her face when she realizes just how hard he is. She's tempted to fuck him right here, and she would, she really would, except that even though he's got his face tucked in the curve of her shoulder he's saying "really, though, we should go, and—_Christ_, Eponine, that's just playing dirty—we can pick this up later, where there's a _bed_ involved…"

The noise of irritation that claws its way out of her throat is more comical than she wants to admit.

* * *

They do make it to dinner, just in time for the reservation that they probably didn't need, but he managed to get them a table on the roof of the restaurant and so she's not complaining.

Once they get to dinner and they place their order and Combeferre is holding her hand while looking through the wine list idly, he says, very casually, "I'm sorry for upsetting you last night."

"It's not—" There is absolutely no way to explain this without sounding utterly ridiculous. "You didn't upset me."

He looks up at her and raises his eyebrows and he's infuriating, so infuriating she'd like very much to pull him over the table right now and kiss him senseless. "You left my apartment near tears less than two minutes after sex, Eponine."

"Okay, I was upset, but not with you."

Squeezing her hand, Combeferre sets the wine list down and laces his fingers into hers. "We don't have to talk about it if you'd rather not."

This is it, the out she really wants, so she can avoid having to discuss this at all and they can go back to how things always are, but—and this takes her a moment of staring at his long, calloused fingers curled around hers to realize—this is _Combeferre_, and even if she's utterly ridiculous he'll take her seriously, because he always takes her feelings seriously, even when she doesn't.

"Tell me again what you said." Her voice is low, so low she can barely hear it herself, but he hears it. He always hears her.

"I said that I love you," he answers, so calm, so sure, even as her insides are twisting and snarling in ways she didn't think possible.

"Why?"

"Why did I say it? Or why am I in love with you?"

How he can manage to be so perfectly frank without looking even a little nervous is entirely beyond her, and she spares a quick second to hate him a little for it. "Both, I guess."

Combeferre pauses to arrange his thoughts into something coherent, chewing on the inside of his cheek and frowning. "The freckles on your back—the ones that go up to your left shoulder—they make up Scorpius. The constellation. It takes a bit of squinting sometimes but I can see it. When you get worried about Enjolras or your siblings, you get that crease right there, between your eyebrows. It's the only time you do. You're going to have laugh lines someday and I can already trace where they're going to be because every time you laugh I cannot look away. I can't even _try._ My hands fit into yours like they were made for that purpose alone and sometimes when you think I can't hear you, you start singing.

"I told you because I'm not in the habit of not saying what's on my mind, and this has been on my mind for days now, really, but if you're uncomfortable with it I don't mind not saying it, so long as you know. As for why I'm in love with you I honestly couldn't tell you. I just am. I'm not going to question it. It's right, for me, and I don't like the thought of _not_ being in love with you. And every time I pick up my cello I swear every note comes to me more naturally than any ever has in all my years playing."

He's tracing the bones in her hand now, and she shivers, transfixed. "I don't know if I can say it back," she says slowly, and he shrugs, as if it doesn't matter.

"I don't love you with conditions attached," he promises.

Eponine bites her lip and stares at their hands and asks, "Say it again, then?"

And he does.


End file.
